Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality 9811599718, 9789811599712

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Michael A. Peters

Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality

Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality

Michael A. Peters

Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality

Michael A. Peters Faculty of Education Beijing Normal University Beijing, China

ISBN 978-981-15-9971-2 ISBN 978-981-15-9972-9 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9 © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

Preface

‘Words are deeds’ Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and.Value, (1980), trans. Peter Winch, (eds.) G.H. von Wright in collaboration with Heikki Nyman, Oxford, Blackwell, p. 46.

One doesn’t study Wittgenstein as a hobby or for a few Saturdays, or to learn some pithy Wittgensteinian aphorisms (although that is the approach of some). He demands hard work of interpretation that is a commitment to the long-term. The daunting fact is that while he only published the Tractatus and one paper during his lifetime, his notebooks and posthumous works are now enormous, and the secondary literature is intimidating in its number and depth. What more can be said? My approach has been determined by an approach that examines Wittgenstein in relation to educational philosophy and theory. I have called it philosophy-aspedagogy and I have tried to demonstrate that there is more than an accidental relationship between his seven years as a teacher in Austria and the style of his thought. Over the years working with friends James D. Marshall, Nicholas Burbules, Paul Smeyers and Fazal Rizvi, I started from the biographical assumption that Wittgenstein had spent nearly all his life—from the point he entered a school as an adolescent in educational institutions—as either a student or teacher or professor (as someone who professes). He spent his life thinking and he taught, wrote and interacted with his students and colleagues in Cambridge and Vienna. I started my Wittgenstein studies while undertaking a B.Sc. in philosophy of science at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand, in the mid-1970s. ‘1976’ is the year written on the flyleaf of my now battered copy of the Investigations. It has many scribbles in the margins and underlining throughout. (Not a defacing practice I follow now). At Auckland University in the late 1970s and 1980s I completed a Masters in philosophy receiving a first, and was funding through a postgraduate scholarship to begin a Ph.D. that focused on the Investigations. In those days the later Wittgenstein was not held in very high regard by philosophers in New Zealand, some of whom accepted the Tractatus but, like Russell, turned their noses up at the Investigations, which for them did not count as philosophy. It was regarded as sophistry and tarred with the brush of relativism. Whether or not it was philosophy was not an important question to me. I was drawn in by Wittgenstein’s style of writing v

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as someone who read literature and poetry as part of my first degree. I came to view the Investigations as a literary work, in much the same way as I came to appreciate Derrida’s writings. I was struck by the gnomic utterances and the elegant nested structure of the work. The intricate structure of the Tractatus echoed its concerns in logic; the structure of the Investigations is also a stylistic choice that reflects the complexity of Wittgenstein’s voice and his pedagogical attempt to release us from the worldview that holds us captive. Today the ‘literary Wittgenstein’ is no longer a novel approach (Gibson and Huemer 2004). I was not so much interested in appropriating Wittgenstein for literary theory as recognizing his work as a complex, episodic and narrative forerunner of a form of confessional writing of the self, viewed in relation to larger claims about the nature of modernism, especially Viennese modernism. In 1979 I won a postgraduate scholarship at the University of Auckland to complete a Ph.D. and I decided to work on Wittgenstein, not in the philosophy department where I had achieved a first, but in education, in order to marry my interests in having been a secondary teacher for seven years. Actually, the truth is that I was burnt out as a teacher and young head of department and my marriage had fallen apart. Wittgenstein as a form of Ph.D. study was a replacement therapy. This book is the result of my Ph.D. study published here for the first time. I completed the thesis and while it guided my approach to Wittgenstein, I did not publish it or anything from it. It guided my subsequent approach. I decided to publish the thesis as a book and to use the opportunity to add some reflections on my earlier work. I had resisted its publication and not even looked at it until recently. I did not want to publish it because I didn’t think it good enough. I relented on its publication because the thesis has been close to the trail I have followed since. The major influences for me were Stephen Toulmin’s work and his book with Allan Janik, Wittgenstein’s Vienna but I was also working in the shadow of Richard Rorty, whose work Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature exercised a powerful force on my imagination. The other text that was instrumental in my trajectory was Jean-Francois Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition which I discovered the year I completed my thesis. Rorty’s influence is easy to see in the ruling conceptions of rationality. Toulmin’s work is also omni-present in conceptions of rationality and understanding especially in science. His work with Janik operated on my understanding of Wittgenstein like a conspiracy, helping me to see Wittgenstein in relation to his native city, country, and traditions. While Wittgenstein was a social conservative his work is anything but conservative. Lyotard’s appropriation was also a lasting influence. I did not turn to Lyotard for a scholarly reading of Wittgenstein’s life or work. For that I had the wonderful biography of Ray Monk and readings by such luminary scholars as Gordon Baker and Peter Hacker. The interpretation that registered most with me was Stanley Cavell who rightly is regarded as one of the greatest American philosophers of his time. My choice of approach also was a product of my training having completed a B.Sc. in philosophy of science which in the 1970s and 1980s was shaped by the work of Karl Popper, Thomas Kuhn, Stephen Toulmin and Paul Feyerabend. In their work and exchanges I saw the means by which to discuss the problem of rationality in educational theory in a way that confronts the positivism of the logical positivists and recognizes the claims of the history of science as being relevant and weighing

Preface

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on epistemological claims. In ways that I can only make sense of looking back now I was also simultaneously making sense of structuralist arguments and of Althusserian Marxism especially as it was driven by, then, Australian Marxists Kevin Harris, Jim Walker, Colin Evers, and Michael Matthews but this tendency was short-lived. I was also fortunate to have Denis Phillips as my external examiner who as a Popperian had a huge effect on my thinking. The French historical school of epistemology including Althusser and also Foucault seemed to me at that early stage as having a lot in common with Kuhn. In educational philosophy and theory R. S. Peters, Paul Hirst and the ‘London’ school and their Wittgenstein interpretation of conceptual analysis became a target of sorts. I pitted my interpretation against that of the London school although I think in retrospect I may have overplayed the opposition. There was much that was good that came out of the London school and its impact on philosophy of education was largely beneficial. I only really entered into the discipline at the end of the period when the influence of the London school was waning. The topic of rationality was a burning issue in social science in the 1980s. There were several important works and anthologies that were devoted to the issue and the significance of the topic was fueled in part by Peter Winch’s (1958) The Idea of a Social Science and Its Relationship to Philosophy which drew on the work of the later Wittgenstein. He translated Culture and Value (1980) and was committed to a Wittgensteinian answer to the question of meaningful behavior and the role of social studies as science in its understanding. Rationality has been a central topic and theme in the modern context weighing on many related concepts and questions including its nature and scope in defining human beings and their pursuit of knowledge, science, morality, religion and more broadly human language and action. Wittgenstein approaches the problem of rationality obliquely: it emerges out of his investigations of language and departs from the classical definition of human rationality as that of a reasoning animal. ‘Rationality’ as a concept barely figures in his work and yet is has had a determining influence in philosophy of science and social science, dismantling the calculus model of logical empiricism with a view that emerged from an embodied view of scientific practice as something that we do. As Janik (2013) explains: knowledge is first and foremost a matter of following a rule in a situation where there are no formal rules but only examples of actions to be imitated (PI § 208), i.e. where we learn the rules of the game by playing as it were (OC § 95) (p. 308)

Learning by doing and making practical judgements becomes a system where experience teaches us how to behave. One anonymous reviewer commented that this thesis is very much a product of its time with no new references after 1984. To this reviewer I would like to reply that the publication of this thesis is part of the history of philosophy of education. It is a text that bears the imprint of its time and place, like all texts, but I would suggest that the arguments concerning the Wittgensteinian-inspired historicist approach to education based on historicist philosophy of science are still relevant and significant. If anything, to my mind, the force of these arguments have taken on an even greater

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significance both in philosophy of science and philosophy of education, especially within the context of anti-foundationalism and post-foundationalism, a relatively recent topic in philosophy and one that is still not well understood. In response to this same anonymous reviewer I have decided to include an ‘end-paper’—‘Beyond “The Education of Reason”: Dewey, Wittgenstein and Foucault’—in order to show that the theme and argument around rationality that I grappled with in the early 1980s are still topical and important, not just for the history of philosophy of education but also for its current practice. The ‘end-paper’ is designed to demonstrate that ‘The Education of Reason’ is still a dominant theme and motif in philosophy of education, and that Wittgenstein’s treatment of the issue can also be better understood by a comparison with Dewey and Foucault. All three would want to take issue with a view of ‘The Education of Reason’ as a story told by liberal philosophers of education about the ideal of liberal education and in this sense an attempt to eternalize and universalize the discourse of the day. Wittgenstein, Dewey and Foucault by comparison want to criticize this conception through arguments about knowledge, certainty and rationality and, in Foucault’s case, in addition by attention to the concept of liberal modernity. The ‘end-paper’ is an early version, much revised and expanded, of a chapter for The History of Philosophy, 1945–2010, edited by Kelly Baker and Iain D. Thomson (2019) for Cambridge University Press, written with Jeff Stickney, ‘Philosophy of Education and the “Education of Reason”: Post-Foundational Approaches through Dewey, Wittgenstein, and Foucault’ (pp. 513–526). One further reason for publishing this now is that it has informed my philosophical development. Should anyone ever have an interest in my work and wants to know its trajectory then this work contains an answer of sorts. The motto ‘Word are deeds’ is meant to signal a meaning as use conception of language—meaning is an act of making sense and the choice of word are actions. Beijing, China

Michael A. Peters

References Gibson, J., & Huemer, W. (Eds.). (2004). The Literary Wittgenstein. London: Routledge. Janik, A. (2013). Impure Reason Vindicated. Available from: http://wittgensteinrepository.org/ agora-ontos/article/viewFile/2234/2196.

Acknowledgements

(From the original thesis): There are a number of people I wish to thank for their assistance and support in writing this thesis. Jim Marshall, my supervisor, read and commented on each successive draft, suggesting various necessary revisions which helped both to clarify and develop the interpretations and arguments. Along with Colin Lankshear, who read the first and final chapters, Jim Marshall also assisted me to re-conceptualize the structure of the thesis at crucial points, and gave me the necessary encouragement to complete the task. My thanks also go to Denis Phillips who, while on sabbatical leave at Auckland University, took the time to read and comment in detail on the penultimate draft. He raised many valuable criticisms and suggested a number of arguments I have since incorporated into the text. The degree of personal support and encouragement I have received from Gail Lorimer in over three years of study has been unfailing. My special thanks go to her. Christine Helliwell read and offered criticisms on two early chapters, and helped to turn some tortuous prose into something readable. Finally, I wish to thank Tania Kinney who turned my rough drafts into presentable type-script and Carol Jay for the final preparation of the thesis. The book is dedicated to my two sons, Christo and Simon Peters, and my grandchildren, Gino, Kit, Finn and Sam. Finally, I wish to thank Tina Besley, my wife and colleague, who helped me with proofing this work and also gave me many valuable suggestions.

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Abbreviations to Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Works

N.B. (1961). Notebooks 1914–1916, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe, (eds.), G.H. von Wright and G.E.M. Anscombe, Oxford, Blackwell. Followed by page number. [w. 1913–14]. T.L.P. (1961). Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, trans. D.F. Pears and B.F. McGuiness, with B. Russell’s Introduction, London, Routledge & Kegan Paul. Followed by sentence number. [1921]. P.G. (1974). Philosophical Grammar, trans. A. Kenny, (ed.), R. Rhees, Oxford, Blackwell. Followed by page number. [w. 1929–30]. B.B. (1958). The Blue and Brown Books, Oxford, Blackwell. (Harper Torchbook, 1965). Followed by page numbers. [w. 1933–35]. P.I. (1953). Philosophical Investigations, repr. 1972, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe, Oxford, Blackwell. Part 1, followed by paragraph number; Part II, followed by page number. [w. Part 1, 1945; Part II, 1946–9]. R.F.M. (1956). Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe, (eds.), G.H. von Wright, R. Rhees, G.E.M. Anscombe, Oxford, Blackwell. Followed by paragraph numbers. O.C. (1969). On Certainty, trans. Denis Paul and G.E.M. Anscombe, (eds.), G.E.M. Anscombe and G.H. von Wright, Oxford, Blackwell. Followed by paragraph numbers. Z. (1967). Zettel, 2nd ed. 1981, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe, (eds.), G.E.M. Anscombe and G.H. von Wright, Oxford, Blackwell. Followed by paragraph number. [w. 1929–48]. Lectures and Conversations on Aesthetics, Psychology and Religious Belief , (1966), 4th Imp. 1978, Compiled from Notes taken by Yorick Smythies, Rush Rhees, and James Taylor, (ed.), Cyril Barrett, Oxford, Blackwell. [w. 1938; 1942–6].

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Contents

Part I

Historical Background

1 Introduction: Two Conceptions of Rationality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (a) Overview of Central Arguments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) The Notion of Absolute Rationality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (c) The Notion of Constitutive Rationality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (d) Chapter Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 3 6 9 13 17

2 The Problem of Rationality and the Tradition of Philosophy-as-Epistemology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (a) The Problem of Rationality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) The Reflexive and Linguistic Turns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (c) Wittgenstein and the Rise of Linguistic Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

19 19 26 31 46

Part II

Rationality and Philosophy of Education

3 The Autonomy of Analytic Philosophy of Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (a) Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) The Autonomy of Analytic Philosophy of Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (c) The Method of Conceptual Analysis and the Importance of Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

51 51 53 64 82

4 Three Theories of Knowledge in Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 (a) Introduction and the Analytic Theory of Philosophy of Education . . . 85 (b) The Marxist Critique of Analytic Philosophy of Education and the “Knowledge as Production” Thesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 (c) Young’s Epistemology: The Sociology of Knowledge Thesis . . . . . . . 108 (d) Towards a Reconciliation of Structuralism and Humanism . . . . . . . . . 117 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122

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Contents

Part III Constitutive Rationality and Historicism 5 The Force of Historicism in the Philosophy of Science . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (a) Two Conceptions of Rationality Re-Visited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) Foundationalist (Absolutist) Epistemology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (c) Non-Foundationalism—Popper’s Critical Rationalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . (d) The Relevance of the History of Science: Kuhn’s “Paradigms” . . . . . . (e) Lakatos’ Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes . . . . . . . . . (f) The “Historicist” Turn: New Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (g) Postscript: Educational Theory and the “Historicist” Turn . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

129 129 135 139 144 150 154 159 170

6 Hermeneutics, Social Theory and Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (a) The Rise of Modern Hermeneutics: Gadamer and the Happening of Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) The Prehistory of Modern Hermeneutics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (c) Gadamer’s Hermeneutic Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (d) The Critical Hermeneutics of Apel and Habermas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (e) Education, Hermeneutics and the Model of Dialogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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7 An End-Paper: Beyond “The Education of Reason”—Dewey, Wittgenstein and Foucault . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (a) An Historicist Approach to Philosophy of Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) John Dewey, Pragmatism and American Liberalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (c) Wittgenstein, Liberal Education and Analytical Philosophy of Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (d) Michel Foucault, Governmentality and Neoliberal Rationality in Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (e) Rationality as a Language-Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

177 179 184 194 216 223 227 227 231 233 236 238 240

Part I

Historical Background

Chapter 1

Introduction: Two Conceptions of Rationality

In every age of philosophy, a real effort is needed to get clear what it has to say that is new and genuine, and what represents rather a traditional truth in a different form, an old war on fronts which have moved elsewhere or the straight forward continuation of work already accomplished. The historicity of contemporary philosophy finds its expression in the shape of its problems. In the range of problems which are recognized as actual, contemporary philosophy defines itself as against tradition and at the same time puts itself into a relationship to it. Rüdiger Bubner, “Introduction: On the Historicity of Philosophy”, Modern German Philosophy, Cambridge University Press, 1981, pp. 6–7.

(a) Overview of Central Arguments The nature of rationality is a topic which serves as a common ground for a great range of issues and problems in much recent philosophy, and one which has increasingly become the focus of concern for a generation of philosophers who no longer either conceive of philosophy as the foundational discipline underwriting claims to rationality or of science as the exemplification of rationality at its best. The loss of faith in science as the paradigm of rationality and in philosophy as the foundational discipline concerned to provide universal standards of rationality valid for all actual and possible claims to knowledge has forced a re-evaluation of the nature of rationality. Since the days of high positivism a series of attacks—Quine (1961) on analyticity, Sellars (1963) on the myth of “the given”, Hanson (1958) and Feyerabend (1970) on the theory-observation distinction, Kuhn (1970a) on the nature of scientific change - have cast doubt on the accepted nature of scientific inquiry, and seriously questioned the previously unquestioned positivist commitment to science as the only possible rational scheme. In epistemology a number of authors have recently revived and embraced the familiar articles of scepticism (Harman 1973; Lehrer 1974; Unger 1975). The old age challenge from scepticism to the possibility of justifying our fundamental beliefs and assumptions has been reformulated and restated with

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. A. Peters, Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9_1

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1 Introduction: Two Conceptions of Rationality

a greater force so that the problem has become typically framed in terms of justifying a commitment to rationality itself. While fideists (Phillips 1971) and anarchists (Feyerabend 1975) have welcomed the sceptical conclusion; others have sought to defend the commitment to rationality (Bartley 1962; Trigg 1973; Kekes 1976). The present concern for the nature of rationality, however, is not confined to philosophy of science or to epistemology: it actually cuts a swathe across disciplines. In social theory philosophers such as Lukes (1977), Hollis (1977), Papineau (1978) and Skorupski (1979) have attempted to argue for a post-empiricist picture of scientific rationality as one that necessarily involves objectivity and truth in an apparent attempt to combat the allegedly relativist assumptions that are seen to underlie the claims of anthropologists, sociologists and social science philosophers alike, who have argued that it is inappropriate to apply our standards of rationality when interpreting or attempting to understand alien belief systems. Their arguments, in part, are designed to undercut the assaults on an allegedly single and universally valid conception of rationality by such scholars as Winch (1958, 1979), Louch (1969) and Douglas (1975) who have argued that western scientific rationality is just one type of rationality among others. The existential phenomenology of Schutz (1967), the ethno methodology of Garfinkel (1967), and the so-called “interpretist” school typified in the work of Berger and Luckmann (1967) share a common emphasis on the way in which social reality is actively constructed by agents’ meanings. Behind these methodologies is the common assumption that there is a radical separation of the social sciences from the natural sciences, and a tacit agreement that there are alternative sets of rational standards. These schools of social theory have raised afresh problems to do with the methodological unity of the sciences—both natural and human—and joined with the Geisteswissenschaften and Critical Theory in confronting positivism, and its single ideal of rationality, in the social sciences. Further afield in psychology, much of the disagreement between humanist and behaviourist schools can be seen in this light (Wann 1964; Dagenais 1972) and after the wake of positivism psychologists are beginning to sort out the implications of the new philosophy of science for their own discipline (Blunt 1981; Manicas and Secord 1983). In political studies and in moral philosophy where discussion has tended to converge on the role of reasons versus causes in the explanation and justification of social action, both the dispute and the disputants are alive and well (Skinner 1972; Hampshire 1975). Closer to home, the current debate in education over the epistemological basis of the “new directions” sociology characterized in the work of Young (1971) and Whitty (1977) can be seen as a dispute over whether there are alternative standards of rationality (Young 1975) as can the recent attacks on the analytic paradigm in philosophy of education (Harris 1979; Matthews 1980). Further, the ongoing debate initiated by Hirst (1973) and O’Connor (1973) over the place of values in educational theory, and the discussion over the possibility of educational theory (Mounce 1976; Carson 1980) can be usefully interpreted as the contemporary process of working out an acceptable notion of rationality in education.

(a) Overview of Central Arguments

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Plainly, there is much ado about the notion of rationality and much confusion as to its nature and scope in both the natural and social sciences. This thesis in epistemology and education is concerned with two broad conceptions of rationality and knowledge, and with their influence in the philosophy of education. Initially it is concerned with evaluating a certain conception of rationality and knowledge as it is exemplified in the method of conceptual analysis in philosophy of education and as it is embodied in the view of education thereby arrived at. In contrast to this conception of rationality and education, it is also concerned to recommend an opposing or competing notion. In general terms, I distinguish and examine two related but opposing notions of rationality as they appear in philosophy and social theory, and as they have come to be adopted in the philosophy of education. Broadly speaking I draw a distinction between ahistorical and historical conceptions of rationality and demonstrate that the ahistorical conception, paradoxically is, itself, an historical product—part and parcel of a mainstream philosophical tradition that has dominated for a considerable period of time. This conception I have termed absolute rationality, that is, rationality construed as a mode or method which will lead to knowledge and truth. The historical conception, on the other hand, I have called constitutive rationality, that is, rationality construed as constitutive of any sustaining system of beliefs. It is a notion that is closely allied to considerations such as intelligibility and the implicit norms of different realms of discourse. Of these two notions, the former can be seen as embodying the traditional and fundamental claim of philosophy to underwrite the rationality of knowledge and belief systems. It has been given a formal, algorithmic character and tends to be associated with absolutist and foundationalist conceptions of knowledge. Often it is seen to presuppose some version of the correspondence theory of truth. Typically, adherents of this view assume a justified true belief account of knowledge so that rationality is seen to consist in holding only those claims that are justifiable. “Justifiability” in this context is traditionally seen to depend upon the logical possibility of proving the truth of knowledge claims. As such claims are held to be proven true by reasoning, it is only by employing a reliable method of reasoning that one is ever entitled to claim certainty. In philosophy of science, this conception of rationality is imbued with logicist assumptions; the principles of logic are considered self-evident and if scientific method is based on them in some way, then it will stand fast, epistemologically speaking. Generally, on this view then, rationality is seen as fixed for all time and space—necessarily always one and the same. The latter notion, on the other hand, is associated with non-foundationist and fallibilist accounts of knowledge, especially those which emphasize a theoretical or epistemological holism, and it is often seen to presuppose a coherentist or instrumentalist version of truth. Its detractors label it “relativist”, while its advocates, though not speaking with a common voice, prefer to call themselves by a variety of terms non-absolutists, coherentists, contextualists and so on. This notion of rationality comes into view most clearly where questions about language are taken seriously: it focuses on the language-dependent nature of belief and emphasizes how beliefs form a web or system. In reaction to logicist assumptions, rationality on this view, is increasingly

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1 Introduction: Two Conceptions of Rationality

seen in dynamic and evolutionary terms relative to a theory, paradigm or culture and subject to socio-historical conditions. The structure of this thesis is built around these two notions for, on the one hand, I argue against the notion of absolute rationality and its exemplification in a certain guiding conception of philosophy adopted by analytic philosophers of education, and on the other, I argue for the notion of constitutive rationality and attempt to spell out its historicist implications. Where possible and appropriate I have attempted to sketch in the historical detail for what I believe, in essence, is a general movement away from logical models of rationality to historical ones in both philosophy and social theory. The historical story is an important ingredient in my account for not only does it provide an invaluable source for understanding the motivation for such change but it also renders my own account self-reflexively consistent. I have chosen to describe this movement and change from the point of view of a Wittgensteinian, for Wittgenstein in the history of contemporary Anglo-American philosophy is a fulcrum; his early work emphasized the logicality of language (and rationality) in the development of a logically perspicuous language; while his later work emphasized the liberation of language, and specifically “grammar”, from the bounds of strict logic. His writings and his influence in modern philosophy mirror this change. Thus, the early Wittgenstein’s influence can be clearly seen in the writings of the Vienna Circle and in the doctrine of Logical Positivism which dominated in philosophy and social theory until quite recently. The later Wittgenstein can be read, in part, as a reaction against his earlier view of language and logic, and his influence once again is easily visible in the writings of the Wittgensteinians, Kuhn, Toulmin, Feyerabend and Rorty. The movement, then, can be characterized in historical terms as a move away from a single, universal and formal model of rationality motivated by considerations of logic to informal, historical models that more closely approximate “rationalities” employed by agents in their active construction of social reality. In one sense, the movement can be considered a reaction against the positivist extraction and formalist interpretation of one paradigm of knowledge (i.e., science) and the treatment and elevation of it to stand as the exemplification of rationality—as embodying the standards of rationality that should be applied to the interpretation of all social conduct, behaviour and action irrespective of time and place.

(b) The Notion of Absolute Rationality The primary aim of this part of my thesis is to evaluate the so-called methodological revolution that has taken place in the philosophy of education since the early 1960s by reference to its adoption of a certain guiding view of philosophy from analytic philosophy—one which embodies the notion of absolute rationality as neutral method. I argue that the method of conceptual analysis in analytic philosophy of education and the associated view of education originate in the conception of philosophy as a foundational, second-order and autonomous activity able to arrive at and revise criteria

(b) The Notion of Absolute Rationality

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which define, in an epistemologically neutral sense, our most fundamental concepts and beliefs. I seek to understand this conception of philosophy by locating it within the context of the mainstream tradition of philosophy-as-epistemology (Rorty 1980) and by briefly tracing its development as a response to the problem of rationality— that of providing a set of ahistorical and cross-culturally valid standards or criteria against which competing beliefs and knowledge claims may be rationally evaluated. The attempt to provide a solution to the problem of rationality encapsulates the main task of this conception of philosophy for as Toulmin (1972) reminds us “the historical invariance of rationality—i.e., the existence of universal principles of human understanding—has always appeared to be a precondition·of rational judgement” (p. 20). This philosophical problematic underlies the traditional programme of epistemology as it has been carried out by Descartes, Locke and Kant, and subsequently interpreted by modern philosophers of the linguistic turn such as Russell, the early Wittgenstein, and Ayer. The logico-linguistic turn taken by twentieth-century philosophy continues the enterprise of critical philosophy by studying thought and attempting to solve the problem of rationality through the intermediary of language. The basic conception of philosophy-as-epistemology is not greatly altered, although it is transposed, by replacing questions of the nature and limits of knowledge with questions of the nature and limits of language. The same quest for certainty, the same foundationalism and the same assumptions concerning the autonomy and neutrality of meta-level inquiry that characterizes Kant’s critical philosophy is evident in the metaphilosophy of the analytic enterprise as it has come to be adopted in the philosophy of education. The conception of philosophy-as-epistemology is doubly applicable to analytic philosophy of education for it is distinctive not only of the method advocated and practised by philosophers of education but also to the results of their inquiries. In particular, R. S. Peters and Paul Hirst advance a view of education—under cover of a theory of meaning—which is centrally concerned with the development of knowledge and understanding. They conceive of education as a state of mind in which reason, sharply differentiated from will and feeling, is accorded fundamental significance and its expression is seen in the variety of public forms of knowledge presupposing intelligibility, truth and objectivity. I pursue certain metaphilosophical questions concerning the adequacy, coherence and justification of this conception of philosophy and its exemplification in the philosophy of education on the understanding that such views or “theories” as we might loosely call them, will determine to a large extent not only how the practice of philosophical inquiry is carried out but also what questions are deemed to be philosophical, interesting and capable of being resolved at the philosophical level. My approach to the evaluation of the conception of philosophy-as-epistemology is set against the sceptical challenge to the possibility of its ever being fulfilled. Beginning with the criterion problem of truth as it was advanced by Greek sceptics against so-called dogmatic philosophy, I describe the sceptical challenge in the form of a dilemma facing epistemology: that any argument attempting to provide a foundational certainty by specifying some criterion of what counts as genuine knowledge reduces either to a vicious circularity or a regress ad infinitum. The dilemma of epistemology is not overcome by attempting to find a

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presuppositionless starting point for critical philosophy in some neutral method for as Rorty (1967) explains: “To know what method to adopt, one must already have arrived at some metaphysical and some epistemological conclusions. If one attempts to defend these conclusions by the use of one’s chosen method, one is open to a charge of circularity. If one does not so defend them, maintaining that given these conclusions the need to adopt the chosen method follows, one is open to the charge that the chosen method is inadequate, for it cannot be used to establish the crucial metaphysical and epistemological theses which are in dispute” (p. 1). My conclusion is that the force of such scepticism is ultimately successful against the various traditional philosophical attempts—including those emphasizing the adoption of a critical method—to provide a solution to the problem of rationality. In this chapter and Chapter 2 I shall be criticizing the underlying notion of a linguistic first philosophy: a philosophical autonomy which defines a standpoint held to be at one and the same time normatively neutral and theory-free, and capable of attaining certainty in metaphilosophy. Specifically, in Chapter 2 I argue that the nature of the approach of analytic philosophy of education has, despite claims to the contrary, influenced the results or findings of that approach in ways neither fully nor officially recognized by its advocates. The adoption of a certain guiding view of philosophy has prevented analytic philosophers of education from recognizing and acknowledging both the validity of certain telling criticisms against such a view and the theory and value-ladenness of their claims. It is, furthermore, a view which has actively discouraged epistemological self-criticism, for if, as it has been claimed, there is no method then it is difficult to locate the boundaries of its orthodoxy; or if, as it is believed, philosophy is a doctrineless, presuppositionless activity—that it advances no substantive theses of its own and “leaves everything as it is”—then there is apparently nothing to criticize. The combined force of an autonomy and neutrality at once define a critical standpoint for educational philosophers which both grants them a privileged epistemic authority and removes the need for any serious questions concerning self-justification. In the first place, I challenge the validity of the linguistic turn as establishing for analytic philosophy of education a second-order autonomy. In particular, I show that the notion of philosophy as a second-order autonomous activity rests on a series of outmoded and questionable distinctions which are used to separate philosophical inquiry from both the normative and the empirical. In the second place, I dispute the notions of a linguistic neutrality and “pure” description as it applies to conceptual analysis. Here I confront the question of what constitutes an adequate or successful analysis and I am concerned to show, following Wittgenstein and Quine, that the analysis of concepts is a context-dependent activity: that conceptual analysis is best seen as a theory dependent activity and conceptual truth best regarded as validity within theory. In the third place, I examine and criticize a particular theory of knowledge and rationality advanced under cover of a theory of meaning. I am concerned here to show that the theory put forward is but one more variant on the theme of philosophy-as-epistemology and as such is open to the same sceptical attack.

(c) The Notion of Constitutive Rationality

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(c) The Notion of Constitutive Rationality The philosophy of the later Wittgenstein provides me with the ground both for advocating a notion of constitutive rationality and for repudiating the traditional conception of philosophy-as-epistemology. In addition, Wittgenstein’s philosophy serves as a unifying theme for this thesis as it not only gives a reference point for discussing and evaluating the methodological revolution in analytic philosophy and the various phases through which it has moved but also provides a link with the philosophy of science, and with recent continental phenomenology. I shall confine my comments here to an elaboration of an interpretation of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy which permits me to draw out a notion of constitutive rationality. While, following an established line of inquiry, I accept an essentially Kantian interpretation of the Tractatus does not deny traces of Kantian themes in The Philosophical Investigations, I interpret Wittgenstein’s later work especially at those points where philosophy of language and epistemology intersect—in Hegelian terms. The interpretation, given limits of space, is only a programmatic sketch but even so it provides a basis and additional support for viewing the claims of those who wish to emphasize the links between the later Wittgenstein and recent continental philosophy. It also affords new lines of investigation for a philosophy of education that takes the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein seriously, and offers the prospect of reaching common ground with those of a Marxist persuasion in the philosophy of education who have recently levelled strong criticism at the analytic paradigm. This interpretation of Wittgenstein’s philosophy separates him from “linguistic foundationalism” and empiricism typical of much analytic philosophy, and at the same time provides an “answer” to the problem of rationality that avoids the dilemma facing the traditional conception of philosophy-as-epistemology. Wittgenstein does not take the problem of rationality as central to philosophy in the way that Russell, or later, A. J. Ayer does. Although he distinguishes philosophy from science—for science is concerned with the “nature of reality” and what is distinctive of philosophy is the nature of its questions and their resolution—Wittgenstein does not emphasize the autonomy of philosophy or hold to its status as a second-order activity. Accordingly, his approach to the problem or rationality is not to attempt to isolate some epistemologically ultimate set of privileged items in the fashion of the foundationalist; nor does he attempt a straightforwardly coherentist account. Rather his response may be likened to that of Hegel’s “immanent critique” of knowledge, where standards of reason—the norms of rationality—are seen to be internal to particular forms of life. They are located within established practices. “What has to be accepted, the given”, Wittgenstein advises us in the Investigations, “is - so one could say - forms of life” (p. 226). He thus avoids the criticisms of the circularity and the infinite regress of justification attendant on adopting either horn of the epistemological dilemma, and shares with Hegel and the Greek sceptics the belief that philosophy cannot stand outside ordinary consciousness or discourse to evaluate it by reference to some external standard. There is, in other words, no neutral theoretical starting point for philosophy.

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For Wittgenstein, the giving of grounds comes to an end not in a series of inviolate propositions or a set of privileged presuppositions but in an ungrounded way of acting. puts it in On Certainty: “Giving grounds, however, justifying the evidence, comes to an end;- but the end is not certain propositions striking us immediately as true, i.e., it is not a kind of seeing on our part; it is our acting which lies at the bottom of the language-game” (342). In reacting against his earlier view of language and logic embodied in the logical atomism of the Tractatus, Wittgenstein, according to one anonymous critic cited by Plant (1973, p. 187), comes up with many of the old idealist arguments in a new form. In this light, we can better understand the doubts Wittgenstein casts on the analyticsynthetic distinction—a bulwark of positivism. If there is no firm distinction between the world and our representations of it, between sentences which correspond to something and those which are deemed “true” only by convention—a feature that follows naturally from Wittgenstein’s holism and coherentism—then philosophy is deprived of its privileged epistemic status in the search for certain foundations for knowledge. Further, there are echoes of Hegel in Wittgenstein’s appeal to a pre-theoretical practical life and his emphasis on the whole, both of which are reflected in the fundamental notion of a form of life. The speaking of language, he tells us, is part of an activity or form of life (P.I., 23), and as such presupposes not only an underlying linguistic consensus—an agreement in definitions and in judgements—but also a substratum of shared experience and behaviour; Wittgenstein stresses the organic unity of the language-game also by reference to his doctrine of semantic holism (P.I., 199; OC 225; 229). A form of life, then, is a given—an unjustified and an unjustifiable interconnected whole of human activity resembling a culture (P.I., p. 223). It is in this sense that we can understand Wittgenstein’s sceptical response to the problem of rationality as conceived from the point of view of philosophy-as-epistemology— the justification of claims is not possible outside the framework of the practice of a language-game. “What people accept as a justification - is shown by how they think and live” (P.I., 326). Wittgenstein, clearly, is suggesting a picture of rationality that approaches an Hegelian view. By emphasizing its home within the language-game— what counts as a reason is determined by the framework or system in which it has a use—Wittgenstein is denying the possibility of universally valid or acontextual reasons. Thus, although he does not subscribe to the necessary historical progression or unfolding of rationality in the Absolute as Hegel does, Wittgenstein does suggest a picture of rationality which is liberated from logicist assumptions and subject to socio-historical conditions. The purpose of a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein is not to suggest that Wittgenstein was influenced by Hegel, but to demonstrate certain striking and instructive similarities in their thinking which have a relevance for modern philosophy in understanding problems of the day. It is an irony of the history of philosophy that the linguistic revolution motivated by the concerns of Wittgenstein, which originally defined itself against Hegelian Idealism in the work of Bradley and McTaggart, should confirm afresh canons of the older Hegelian tradition. In contrast to the traditional conception of philosophy-as-epistemology which views philosophy

(c) The Notion of Constitutive Rationality

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as making a fundamental claim to rationality—forever and necessarily one and the same—Wittgenstein’s view clearly rejects the ahistorical justificationalist analysis of rationality and knowledge. Justification comes to an end in our acting, in our practices, which are embedded in a form of life. There is no justification available or possible outside the framework of a practice. This sort of holistic approach to rationality obscures those neat traditional distinctions on which the analytic enterprise rests—analytic vs. synthetic, necessary vs. contingent, scheme vs. content—that are intended to separate language from the world, and philosophy from first-order disciplines. Further, this approach seems to threaten the very idea of philosophy as the discipline concerned to solve traditional problems by means of a distinctively philosophical method. This picture of rationality further reflects the weight I accord to the recent historicist turn in the philosophy of science which also favours a holistic approach and similarly rejects as bankrupt the traditional ahistorical justificationist account. Such an account was tied to the logicist assumption that appraisal and explanation could be understood as the ahistorical process of inference-making, linking premises and conclusion. The unexamined assumption underlying the logicist view of an implicit rationality in science has come in for sustained criticism. It was assumed that there was a rationality implicit in the work of natural science since about the time of Newton, which explained both why this work was so successful and why earlier work was not. By 1800 or 1850 this “rationality” was assumed fully operative in the work of major natural scientists so that it was possible to talk of “the” scientific method (McMullin 1979). It was not considered that methods characteristic of the natural sciences might be developing, that questions of method might be discoverable in much the same way as questions of content. A radical division between form and content informed the logicist view of philosophy, language and the world, and this view was also highly influential in social theory. No thought was given to the possibility that what counts as “scientific” proof or understanding in the future might differ from what would be so regarded today. Philosophers of science, going beyond the latter Wittgenstein, are attacking the idea of a first philosophy on detailed historical as well as philosophical grounds. They are beginning to question the inherited logicist (and positivist) assumption that “form” and questions of methodology are not discoverable in the same way as “facts” are; and at the same time they are suggesting that scientific methods, goals and criteria have been learned or discovered alongside empirical content in an historical process. Some (e.g. Laudan 1975) have even gone so far as to propose a pragmatic, a posteriori model for history of science suggesting that it is shifting scientific beliefs that have been responsible for the major doctrinal shifts in philosophy of science and epistemology. The force of this historicist view is to challenge the traditional conception of philosophy as an ahistorical discipline concerned to provide “a permanent and neutral framework for all inquiry” to use Rorty’s (1980) phrase, by introducing a notion of rationality that is developmental and historical in nature. In doing so, the historicist movement redefines the problem of rationality. The problem is not how to provide ahistorical and absolutist solutions to questions that do not allow them,

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but to understand how it is that we are and may yet learn to be more rational—an understanding, it seems, that is primarily historical. This brings us full circle for it therefore appears that an understanding of the historical processes of the development of not only orthodox history and philosophy of science, but of the sources of modern methodology and social theory, an important ingredient in any attempt to construct a general learning theory. Broadly speaking the first two chapters of this thesis is an attempt, using the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein as a springboard and by emphasizing its Hegelian component, to repudiate the traditional notion of philosophy-as-epistemology and its exemplification in philosophy of education. Accordingly, my approach has been dictated by the content for by emphasizing the historicity of philosophy and by adopting an “internalist” approach to the study of such a tradition I have attempted to take my own conclusions seriously. By an “internalist” approach I do not mean to suggest the now familiar contrast that appears in the history of science between “internal” and “external” approaches— between the rational and the logical on the one hand, and the social and the causal on the other. The allegedly contradictory nature of these approaches, like the distinction between the contexts of discovery and justification on which it rests, requires the postulation of an a priori notion of rationality to begin with—one universally secure and fixed for all time. I do not wish to become embroiled in this discussion, though I do accept that, insofar as these approaches can be distinguished, they are complementary rather than contradictory (see Hesse 1980). By “internalist” I simply mean an immanent historical critique which seeks not some set of external standards to evaluate the status of a system of philosophical beliefs, but attempts to trace the evolution and development of an interrelated complex of notions that form a philosophical tradition and to assess it on its own terms. This is where Hegel and Wittgenstein coincide. Just as there are no external foundations to language or systems of scientific knowledge, so there are no external foundations to philosophical knowledge. For Hegel (1956), the history of philosophy constitutes a unity. He depicts the history of philosophy as a series of circles with no beginning and no end, each one reflecting the level of knowledge and culture of its own epoch. The circle metaphor suggests that Hegel does not see philosophy in terms of a progressive accumulation of knowledge, but rather more like a change in conceptual frameworks, each with its own internal standards. This Wittgensteinian picture is not meant to suggest, however, a series of disparate, discrete or incommensurable frameworks as in Kuhn’s application of the Wittgensteinian notion of paradigm to scientific knowledge and inquiry, for Hegel wants to emphasize the interrelationships between such systems as well as the differences, and he has in mind the way in which there is an unbroken historical continuity where the present mediates the past into the future.

(d) Chapter Summary

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(d) Chapter Summary This thesis is comprised of three main sections. The first gives the necessary historical background to the problem of rationality and sets up the contrast between two competing notions; the second deals with the notion of absolute rationality in philosophy of education, and examines three contemporary theories of knowledge advocated in education; and the third is an attempt to outline an historicist theory of rationality and knowledge. The bulk of the first section covers the ground laid out in this introduction, while remaining chapters move in different but related directions. Although it might be thought an ambitious undertaking to deal with so much material within the limited scope of a chapter, I found it necessary, if I was to be consistent in both my aims and arguments, to attempt to provide an historical basis for the rest of the thesis—something that would serve as a framework for that which follows. At the risk of reiterating the major themes and ideas, I now provide a series of chapter summaries which traces in a chronological sequence the course that I have taken. This chapter is an historical orientation. It aims to relate the guiding conception of philosophy adopted by analytic philosophers of education to a mainstream philosophical tradition, which after Rorty (1980), I have dubbed philosophy-as-epistemology. The chapter traces the development of this tradition as a response to the problem of rationality—that of providing a set of universal standards or criteria to rationally evaluate competing knowledge claim. Next, it focuses on the reflexive turn taken by Kant and Locke as providing a distinctively philosophical solution to the problem of rationality—one which is based on the assumption of a doctrine of philosophical autonomy. The chapter, then, presents the thesis that the linguistic “turn” taken by twentieth-century Anglo-American philosophy is the epistemological counterpart of the earlier reflexive “turn”: both stand in the tradition of philosophy-as-epistemology and both are open to the same sceptical attack based on the criterion problem of truth first mooted by Pyrrho, and later systematized by Agrippa and Sextus Empiricus against so-called dogmatic philosophy. Finally, the last section charts the rise of linguistic philosophy under the influence of Wittgenstein. It notes the differences between the enterprises of Russell and the early Wittgenstein and puts forward a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein which is consonant with the informal and historical notion of rationality I seek to develop. Wittgenstein’s Frege-inspired semantic holism is a source of the notion of constitutive rationality for it permits me to draw out the idea that beliefs do not stand in isolation: they are part of an interconnected system, web or framework, for which there is no external justification. Standards of rationality are internal to these language structures for what counts as a reason is determined by its place and role within the structure. The Hegelian interpretation, then, serves more fully to bring out the historical and evolving nature of these structures, and hence of rationality itself. The chapter also provides the background for evaluating the claims of analytic philosophers of education as to the guiding conception of philosophy they embrace and the philosophical method they espouse. I suggest that while the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein represents a break from the analytic heritage, many of the tensions and

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difficulties of analytic philosophy of education arise from the attempt to practice ordinary language philosophy within an analytic framework. Against this historical background, the Chapter 2 is devoted to an evaluation of the methodological revolution in philosophy of education. By reference to the espousals of analytic philosophers of education, I seek to establish the distinctive features of a guiding view of philosophy adopted by them. In general, I demonstrate that it is one which embodies the notion of absolute rationality as neutral method, and one which emphasizes the second-order and foundational status of philosophy as the discipline which seeks to arrive at epistemologically neutral criteria that will serve as the basis for adjudicating on competing beliefs and knowledge claims. Philosophy is seen to ·stand to other disciplines as the study of structure to that of content. Such structure is allegedly exposed through the clarification and explication of the central concepts that make up the framework of a discipline and which, therefore, are said to constitute the form or medium through which our experience is made intelligible. On this view, then, philosophy becomes quite simply autonomous—free from the governing presuppositions of its age and from changing socio-historical conditions. This is, perhaps, the central irony that I attempt to point out; that an absolutist, ahistorical, presuppositionless, first linguistic philosophy that is adhered to and espoused by analytic philosophers of education, is very much the product of its age of a series of demonstrable historical influences within modern philosophy. I show that this composite historical conception of philosophy which insists on a radical separation both from other disciplines, and from the normative and the empirical, depends upon a series of questionable distinctions that represent the lingering influence of Kant, and the more immediate legacies of logical atomism and logical positivism. Besides the central paradox that I document regarding the historical status of an ahistorical conception of philosophy embraced by analytic philosophers of education, my attack comes as a series of challenges to the distinctions on which the analytic enterprise rests. These criticisms are designed to cast doubt, particularly, on the doctrine of philosophical autonomy and the doctrine of neutral method which are part and parcel of the overall guiding conception of philosophy adopted. Following Wittgenstein, Quine and a number of authors who have raised similar criticisms internal to the analytic paradigm in philosophy of education, I show the problematic nature of conceptual truth and the futility of attempts to set up by means of a series of stock distinctions, a radical separation of the world and our representations of it. I also mention the ways in which analytic philosophy of education recoils on its origins, and how such a discipline might be rehabilitated from its ahistoricism. The next three chapters develop and build on earlier themes and arguments in different contexts. The guiding motivation and structure, however, is still the same; the attempt to argue for a notion of constitutive rationality over and against an absolutist one and to firmly advocate the move from logical to historical models. Thus, while Chapter 3 narrows its focus in a treatment of three contemporary theories of knowledge in education, Chapter 4 widens the scope of interest by considering the force of historicism in philosophy of science and Chapter 5 attempts to build on previous insights to propose an outline of an historicist theory of knowledge and rationality. In all three, the influence of an Hegelianized Wittgenstein is not far away.

(d) Chapter Summary

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The critique of Hirst’s forms of knowledge thesis, which begins Chapter 3, represents a continuation of the concerns of the earlier chapter. It considers the analytic theory of knowledge—the explicitly epistemological strand of analytic philosophy of education—in contrast to two more recent accounts, namely, the Althusserian epistemology put forward by the Australian Marxists, Harris (1979) and Matthews (1980), and the sociology of knowledge thesis characterized in the work of Young (1971, 1973) and his associates. These two recent accounts are set up as an antithesis to the analytic theory of knowledge. Where the latter promotes an absolutist, ahistorical (and positivist) theory of rationality and knowledge, the former are both advocates of historical models of rationality. Indeed, the very notion of “problematic” which is part of the core of the Althusserian programme, is, as Althusser, himself acknowledges, indirectly an intellectual debt to Hegel’s (and Marx’s) notion of history as a process without a subject—one powered by its own internal contradictions. While the structuralism of the knowledge-as-production thesis represents an improvement on the analytic theory of knowledge in some respects, it also suffers certain disadvantages and raises a number of epistemological problems, as does its competitor thesis in the sociology of knowledge. Both were formed, in part, in reaction to the analytic paradigm in philosophy of education, and both have raised a number of sound criticisms against its ahistorical, absolutist and inherently conservative nature. Thus, they are alike in the sense that they represent a challenge to the analytic paradigm, but more than that, they share similar commitments. Not only do they level the same sorts of criticism at the analytic paradigm, and similarly adopt a Marxist orientation, but also they share the fundamental belief that education and knowledge production is an inherently political activity. The notions of rationality they espouse, accordingly, are very much bound up with politics and change. Yet both have shortcomings, and, to some extent, they counterbalance each other. Thus, where the Althusserianism of the Australian Marxists present an account in terms of structures and their relations which obliterates the role of the active knowing subject, the “new directions” sociology emphasizes human agency as a source for constructive political change but neglects the importance of structural constraints to such change. In the first instance, I am concerned to argue against both the inherent idealist absolutism of a conception of philosophy construed as “the” theory of theoretical production and the anti-humanist bias which relegates the role of the knowing subject to a mere bearer of structural relations; and which, consequently, is unable to account for constructive change. In the second instance, I show that the criticisms levelled at Young’s epistemology by analytic philosophers of education, and by fellow sociologists, designed to demonstrate its self-refuting nature, do not go through. Yet, at the same time, I review a number of sound criticisms of Young’s position which revolve around his theoretical incoherence, and the rather naive assumption backing his early claims that by treating the “dominant legitimizing categories” of science and reason as problematic constructed realities, somehow a social redistribution of wealth and power could be effected. Finally, I attempt to produce the lines of a possible reconciliation between the “humanism” of Young et al, and the structuralism of Harris and Matthews in the proposal of a Wittgensteinianinspired research programme in philosophy of education.

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Such a programme I maintain enables us to draw up three lines of investigation consonant with an historical notion of rationality, each of which will help to widen and enrich present orientations in philosophy of education as well as providing a framework that relates to much productive work in philosophy and social theory ignored by analytic philosophers of education. The Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein is the core of a programme that seeks to draw lines of complementarity between aspects of the thought of the later Wittgenstein and that of (the early) Marx; lines of similarity between the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein and the historicist turn taken by the Wittgensteinians, Kuhn, Toulmin and Feyerabend in philosophy of science; and lines of convergence between aspects of the later Wittgenstein’s philosophy of language and that of Gadamer’s hermeneutics. Chapters 4 and 5 are attempts to both argue for and demonstrate the inter-connections on which these three lines of investigation rest. In Chapter 4, I describe the force of historicism in contemporary philosophy of science. In so doing, I return to a number of related themes mentioned in this introduction—the influence of the later Wittgenstein; the move from logical to historical models of scientific rationality; the importance of considering the historical story as an invaluable ingredient in understanding the status of an idea or system of ideas. Specifically, I am concerned to describe the changes in accounts of knowledge and rationality, and although, by and large, the story I present is the standard history there is an underlying thesis that motivates my presentation. It is that standards of rationality have changed as what have been taken to be acceptable accounts of knowledge have changed, and that, mainly as a result of the sceptical challenge to justificationist accounts of knowledge and rationality, our standards of rationality have become further and further divorced from the conditions of truth and certainty demanded by traditional absolutist and ahistorical accounts. In the last section of Chapter 4, I review the debate over the nature and status of educational theory revolving around the problematic notion of rationality, and, finally, inquire as to the implications of the “new” philosophy of science for educational theory. It is my contention that the interpreters of the new philosophy of science for education· have ignored the central role and importance of hermeneutics, which as a general theory of interpretation, addresses many of the crucial problems in philosophy of science concerning questions of interpretation. Chapter 5 traces the rise of modern hermeneutics—its prehistory as a local theory of interpretation in scriptural hermeneutics and literature through to its present-day status, under Gadamer’s influence, as hermeneutic philosophy. My exposition of Gadamer’s thought has a three-fold function. First, it is used as a commentary on the development of hermeneutics, particularly since Dilthey. Second, it provides the opportunity to note the ways in which Wittgenstein’s philosophy converges with Gadamer’s thought in a Hegelian interpretation of the historicity of all thought and understanding. Third, it provides a basis for an historicist theory of rationality (and knowledge) in terms of the notions of tradition and dialogue. An intellectual tradition is seen as conveying the past into the present, and projecting it into the future through the mediational character of language. Each tradition is to be regarded as dialogue or ongoing conversation. Next, I pursue the Gadamer-Habermas debate. My exposition of Habermas’ critical hermeneutics is to be seen as a limited treatment

(d) Chapter Summary

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of dominant themes as they relate to the role accorded tradition within hermeneutics, and to the possibility of transcending traditioned meaning and the “dialogue that we are”. Finally, I propose adopting the notions of tradition and dialogue as the basis of an historicist theory of rationality (and knowledge), and attempt to apply an understanding of intellectual traditions conceived of as continuing dialogues to education by spelling out the implications of such a position not only for philosophy of education but also for educational research and practice.

Bibliography Bartley, W. W. (1962). The retreat to commitment. London: Chatto & Windus. Berger, P. L., & Luckmann, T. (1967). The social construction of reality. New York: Anchor Books. Blunt, P. (1981). Methodological developments in the social sciences: Some implications for interdisciplinary study. New Zealand Psychologist, 10, 55–70. Carson, A. S. (1980). Two problems of educational theory. British Journal of Educational Studies, XXVIII(1), 20–33. Dagenais, J. J. (1972). Models of Man: A Phenomenological Critique of Some Paradigms in the Human Sciences. The Hague: Nijhoff. Douglas, M. (1975). Implicit meanings. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Feyerabend, P. K. (1970). Consolations for the specialist. In I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (Eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge (pp. 197–230). London: Cambridge University Press. Feyerabend, P. K. (1975). Against method: Outline of an anarchistic theory of knowledge. London: New Left Books. Garfinkel, H. (1967). Studies in ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Hampshire, S. (1975). Freedom of the individual. London: Catta & Windus. Hanson, N. R. (1958). Patterns of discovery. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harman, G. (1973). Thought. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Harris, K. (1979). Education and knowledge: The structured misrepresentation of reality. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hegel, G. W. F. (1956). The philosophy of history (J. Sibree, Trans.). New York. Hesse, M. (1980). Revolutions and reconstructions in the philosophy of science. Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press. Hirst, P. H. (1973). The nature and scope of educational theory. In G. Langford & D. J. O’Connor (Eds.), New essays in the philosophy of education (pp. 66–75). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hollis, M. (1977). Models of man. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kekes, J. (1976). A justification of reality. Albany: State University of New York Press. Kuhn, T. (1970a). The structure of scientific revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press [1962]. Kuhn, T. (1970b). “Logic of discovery or psychology of research”, and “reflections on my critics”. In I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (Eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge. London: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1–24 and 198–231 respectively. Laudan, L. (1975). Progress and its problems. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lehrer, K. (1974). Knowledge. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Louch, A. R. (1969). Explanation and human action. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lukes, S. (1977). Essays in social theory. London: Macmillan Press. Manicas, P. T., & Secord, P. F. (1983, April). Implications for psychology of the new philosophy of science. American Psychologist, 38, pp. 399–413. Matthews, M. (1980). The Marxist theory of schooling: A study of epistemology and education. London: Harvester Press.

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McMullin, E. (1979). The ambiguity of historicism. In P. O. Asquith & H. E. Kyburg·Jr. (Eds.), Current research in philosophy of science (pp. 53–83). East Lansing, MI: Philosophy of Science Association. Mounce, H. (1976). Theory and practice. Proceedings of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, X, 114–123. O’Connor, O. J. (1973). The nature and scope of educational theory. In G. Langford & D. J. O’Connor (Eds.), New essays in the philosophy of education (pp. 47–65). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Papineau, O. (1978). For science in the social sciences. Sussex, Hassocks: Harvester Press. Phillips, D. C. (1971). The distinguishing features of forms of knowledge. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 3, 27–35. Plant, R. (1973). Hegel. London: Allen & Unwin. Quine, W. V. O. (1961). From a logical point of view, 1963, ed. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (Includes “Two Dogmas of Empiricism”). Rorty, R. (1967). (Ed.). The lingusitic turn: Essays in philosophical method. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rorty, R. (1980). Philosophy and the mirror of nature. Oxford: Blackwell. Schutz, A. (1967). The phenomenology of the social world (G. Walsh & F. Lehnert, Trans.). Evanston, IL: North-Western University Press. Sellars, W. (1963). Science, perception and reality. New York: Humanities Press. Skinner, Q. (1972). ‘Social meaning’ and the explanation of social action. In P. Laslett, W. G. Runciman, & Q. Skinner (Eds.), Philosophy, politics and society, 4th series. Oxford: Blackwell. Skorupski, J. (1979). Pangolin power. In S. C. Brown (Ed.), Philosophical disputes in the social sciences. Great Britain: Harvester Press. Toulmin, S. (1972). Human understanding (Vol. 1). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Trigg, R. (1973). Reason and commitment. London: Cambridge University Press. Unger, P. (1975). Ignorance. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Wann, T. W. (Ed.). (1964). Behaviourism and phenomenology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Whitty, G. J. (1977). Society, state and schooling: Readings on the possibilities for radical education. In G. Whitty, & M. Young (Eds.), Lewes, UK: Falmer Press. Winch, P. (1958). The idea of a social science and its relation to philosophy. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Winch, P. (1979). Understanding a primitive society. In B. R. Wilson (Ed.), Rationality (pp. 78–111). Oxford: Blackwell. Young, M. F. D. (Ed.). (1971). Knowledge and control. London: Macmillan Press. Young, M. F. D. (1973). Taking sides against the probable: Problems of relativism and commitment in teaching and the sociology of knowledge. Educational Review, 25(3), 210–222. Young, M. F. D. (1975). The sociology of knowledge: A dialogue between John White and Michael Young. Education for Teaching, 97.

Chapter 2

The Problem of Rationality and the Tradition of Philosophy-as-Epistemology

In order to decide the dispute which has arisen about the criterion of truth, we must possess an accepted criterion by which we shall be able to judge the dispute; and in order to possess an accepted criterion, the dispute about the criterion must first be decided. And when the argument thus reduces itself to a form of circular reasoning the discovery of the criterion becomes impracticable, since we do not allow them to adopt a criterion by assumption, while if they offer to judge the criterion by a criterion we force them to a regress ad infinitum. Sextus Empiricus, Outlines of Pyrrhonism, trans. R. G. Bury, Cambridge, MA, 1939: Loeb Classical Library, Bk. 11, Chap. IV, section 20, pp. 163–165.

(a) The Problem of Rationality The notion that epistemology is a necessary propaedeutic to the rest of philosophy, and to its role in underpinning the various specialist branches of knowledge is part of an underlying conception of philosophy that has dominated Western philosophy— and its history—for a considerable period of time. Although this conception has undergone the vicissitudes of various methodological revolutions it is generally believed to be centrally concerned to provide a solution to the problem of rationality—in view of the diversity of claims how can disputes be rationally adjudicated and which claims are rationally acceptable? On what basis can we rationally evaluate the status of competing claims? This problem has been underscored further by an increased awareness of historical change and cultural diversity. Currently it has been given greater emphasis by the problem of theory-choice in philosophy of science, and that of interpreting different belief systems in social science; if anything, the problem of rationality has loomed even larger in the twentieth century than previously as we have become aware of, and witness to, the extent of such intellectual diversity and change. The conception of philosophy as the foundational discipline concerned to provide a set of ahistorical and culturally universal standards or criteria of rationality which are valid for all actual and possible claims to knowledge, then, originates with this © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. A. Peters, Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9_2

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problem. Rorty (1980) acknowledges that the dominating notion of philosophy-asepistemology is that: to be rational, to be fully human, to do what we ought, we need to find agreement with other human beings. To construct an epistemology is to find the maximum amount of common ground with others. The assumption that such an epistemology can be constructed is the assumption that such common ground exists. Sometimes this common ground has been imagined to lie outside us—for example, in the realm of Being as opposed to that of Becoming … Sometimes it has been imagined to lie within us, as in the seventeenth-century’s notion that by understanding our own minds we should be able to understand the right method for finding truth. Within analytic philosophy, it has often been imagined to lie in language… To suggest that there is no such common ground seems to endanger rationality. (pp. 316–317)

For philosophers in this tradition the notion of rationality has always been closely associated with that of knowledge, and, more specifically, the problem of rationality has been closely associated with the problem of knowledge. It has been generally held that the notions of knowledge and truth are more fundamental than that of rationality for, so the story goes, if we can be certain of what can possibly amount to knowledge, and if we can be certain that at least some of our claims actually do amount to knowledge in virtue of satisfying certain conditions or criteria for knowledge then we will possess the necessary foundations upon which to rationally adjudicate between competing claims. Philosophy in this sense, then, can be interpreted as the search for a neutral or impartial basis for rational judgement and agreement, and in general, this search has focused on the notion of knowledge—its conditions and foundations—as providing such a basis. In the classical analysis of knowledge as justified true belief—an analysis that originates with Plato and one that has proved to be remarkably enduring—three conditions are laid down. For A to know that p, where “A” represents the knowing subject and “p” a proposition, it is necessary that: (1) A believe that p; (2) p is true; and (3) A is justified or has good reason for believing that p. These three conditions are considered jointly necessary and sufficient for knowledge. For those who accept the classical analysis of knowledge or some variant upon it, an answer to the problem of rationality thus consists of the justification of beliefs or knowledge claims. The traditional link between accounts of knowledge and rationality becomes evident in the justification condition: both are concerned to answer the question “what counts as a justification?” Common to those philosophers who embrace some version of foundationalism is the assumption that justification, ultimately, must offer a guarantee of truth and certainty, for they argue, unless some claims are certain or known to be true, the rest of knowledge will be suspect. Certainty and truth, then, are held to be necessary conditions for rationality, and philosophers committed to the quest for certainty sought foundations for knowledge in the class of self-evident or non-inferentially justified beliefs. Orthodox history of philosophy informs us that two main schools grew up around the need to supply a justificational foundation; the rationalists and the empiricists. When the former sought to ground knowledge in an infallible faculty of reason, the latter, in opposition, sought to ground knowledge in an infallible faculty of sense or experience. Generally, such orthodox accounts begin with Descartes as the father

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of modern philosophy, and proceed to construe the difference between Descartes and Newton as a dispute over the ultimate source of scientific knowledge. The story continues by reference to Kant who, in his critical philosophy, is seen as dissolving the battle between the Cartesian rationalists and the Newtonian empiricists. The orthodox interpretation presents the notion of philosophy-as-epsitemology as one that grew up around the idea that knowledge must have foundations and, further, it presents an account of the origins of such a notion primarily as a response to the challenge from scepticism; a challenge that can be satisfied only by discovering certainty in the form of indubitable truths—the foundations on which all knowledge is, allegedly, based or from which it can be derived (Hamlyn 1970). Recently, however, it has been argued that the notion of philosophy-asepistemology is more a product of the modern academic tradition begun in German Protestant universities and of Kantian historiography, rather than of a genuine 40 history accurately recounted or documented (Ree 1978; Rorty 1980). It is claimed that historians following Kantian themes, paradoxically in breaking with previous sectarian struggles, projected onto the past the idea of a first philosophy as a fully self-conscious and autonomous activity—one separate from empirical inquiry—and presented past philosophical disputes primarily in epistemological terms. Ree (1978) for instance, holds that the traditional idea that the “differences between the Cartesians and Newtonians were due to their occupying opposite positions on an extremely abstract question about the sources of knowledge is a myth of eighteenth-century historiography, though it is ultimately traceable to Newton” (p. 21). A detailed investigation of the historiography of the history of philosophy is required to resolve this question, but as little work has been done in this area (an exception is Passmore 1965) most philosophers have accepted, either explicitly or implicitly, the orthodox interpretation. If, in fact, the orthodox interpretation is open to doubt and the claims of those against the orthodox account are true, it would seem that the tradition of an epistemological first philosophy is a tradition that has its own accompanying official history which, in part, serves an ideological function of helping to sustain an intellectual myth. Be that as it may, there are, it seems, good historical grounds for associating foundationalism and scepticism. Sextus Empiricus, a Greek sceptic living in the second-century A.O., drawing on the work of earlier sceptics, and, in particular, influenced by the logic of Agrippa’s ten tropes, proceeded to demonstrate in terms of the criterion problem of truth, that every non-sceptical argument reduces to a vicious circularity or an infinite regress (Berberelly 1974). With the rise of Christianity, and the fact that medieval philosophers found a secure basis for belief in Catholic faith, scepticism went into decline for over a thousand years. The rediscovery and publication of Sextus’ works during the Renaissance had an enormous influence on Descartes and the continental rationalists as well as on Hume and the British empiricists, and thereby played a crucial role in the arguments that led to the formulation of modern philosophy (Popkin 1968, 1980). The force of such scepticism, typically recast to meet new forms of absolutism, has led many to question the possibility of providing foundations for knowledge-in-general and to repudiate the conception of

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philosophy-as-epistemology. I provide an account of sceptical challenge to the justification condition in foundationalist theories of knowledge in a subsequent chapter on the force of historicism in the philosophy of science. In the present context, I am more concerned to chart the development of the notion of philosophy-as-epistemology, linking it respectively to the reflexive and linguistic turns in modern philosophy. It suffices here to say that the problem to which Sextus addresses himself in the opening quotation—the motif I have chosen for this chapter—represents a major problem for the traditional programme of epistemology, including subsequent reinterpretations of this programme by philosophers of the linguistic turn. Any justificationist answer to the problem or rationality faces either an infinite regress or a vicious and inevitable circularity, for if beliefs or systems of beliefs (i.e., ‘theories’) are to be justified by reference to certain standards or criteria (i.e., are to be considered rational if and only if they can be shown to be the result of reliable reasoning), then it is necessary to know what reliable reasoning consists in. To say that reasoning is reliable if it conforms to certain criteria or standards only removes the problem one step, for as the sceptic points out, these criteria or standards must, themselves, be capable of rational justification. Thus, within the context of a discussion of the justification of rationality, the sceptic demonstrates by logical argument that a commitment to rationality cannot itself be rationally justified in terms of those criteria or standards that define or determine rationality. The sceptic further shows that foundationalistjustificationalist accounts of rationality are self-reflexively inconsistent in that those accounts cannot both meet the standards or criteria for rationality laid down in the account, and at the same time offer a justification for them, without lapsing into a vicious circularity or an infinite regress. The commitment to rationality, it seems then, is ultimately a leap of faith. Recently, both Toulmin (1972), and Rorty (1980), among others, have attempted to trace the historical underpinnings of the search for certainty and thus of the notion of philosophy-as-epistemology, and both, given some major differences in their interpretations and the positions they, themselves, embrace, have come up with remarkably similar stories which they have used to make essentially the same sorts of claims about the nature of philosophy. It is instructive here for my purposes to focus on the common ground between them. Both, it seems, are essentially engaged in the same sort of task. They are attempting to interpret the main ingredients in the Western philosophical tradition which they see as constitutive of our conception of philosophy. Both wish to trace this conception of philosophy in its historical development in order to undermine and transcend it. Both interpret the tradition as one that originated with the Greeks and was shaped by Descartes, Locke and Kant; and both construe the tradition and associated questions about the nature of philosophy in epistemological terms. They are concerned to combat the picture of philosophy as the discipline which provides universal and absolute standards or criteria of rationality for all areas of knowledge by tracing the origins and development of such a picture and by emphasizing how the course or direction of this development was not a necessary one. Toulmin (1972), for instance, writes:

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From early on, however, all the philosophical theories proposed as solutions to this problem [i.e., the problem of rationality] began to develop in a single direction. The need for an impartial forum and procedures was understood as calling for a single, unchanging and uniquely authoritative system of ideas and beliefs. The prime exemplar of such a universal and authoritative system was found in the new, abstract networks of logic and geometry … Yet this particular direction of development—which equated rationality with logicality—was never compulsory. (p. 44)

Toulmin’s purpose in returning to the Greeks is only, in part, to illustrate the origins of our present philosophical concerns with highly abstract and formal models for knowledge and rationality. He also wants to remind us here that the philosophical theory of knowledge then was not divorced from maxims of intellectual practice. He suggests that the separation between philosophy-as-epistemology and science and history—a separation which has proved so fatal for much contemporary epistemology—took place in the seventeenth century. Rorty agrees with Toulmin but proposes a different analysis of how the Greeks and, in particular Plato, contributed to the idea of foundations of knowledge. For him, Plato constitutes a cornerstone of the Western philosophical tradition—one of the three major ingredients—not by introducing a pre-analytic distinction between intuitions and concepts but by introducing the “Platonic Principle”—i.e., “that differences in certainty must correspond to differences in the objects known” (p. 156). He argues that the notion of foundations of knowledge is a product of the Platonic analogy between perceiving and knowing. “The essential feature of the analogy is that knowing a proposition to be true is to be identified with being caused to do something by an object.” He continues further on: “The idea of ‘necessary truth’ is just the idea of a proposition which is believed because the ‘grip’ of the object upon us is ineluctable” (p. 157). Rorty, then, is concerned to reject the broadly realistic view of truth which he attributes to Plato—a view that is one component contributing to the idea that “philosophy’s central concern is to be a theory of representation, a theory which will divide culture up into the areas which represent reality well, those which represent it less well, and those which do not represent it at all …” (p. 3). But he views the Platonic doctrine, according to which truth is correspondence with nature and knowledge is a matter of possessing accurate representations, as based on a series of optional ocular metaphors: “the notion of knowledge as the assemblage of accurate representations is optional … it may be replaced by a pragmatist conception of knowledge which eliminates the Greek contrast between contemplation and action, between representing the world and coping with it” (p. 11). Rather epigrammatically, a little later on he generalizes this point to read: “it is pictures rather than propositions, metaphors rather than statements, which determine most of our philosophical convictions” (p. 12). It is to the seventeenth century, however, that both Rorty and Toulmin turn in order to explain the main presuppositions underlying critical philosophy, and the consequences this has had for modern philosophy. Here I can but briefly refer to the main components in their interpretations; Toulmin attempts to encapsulate the axioms of the tradition as they appeared in the seventeenth century in the following way.

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(1) The Order of Nature is fixed and stable, and the mind of man acquires intellectual mastery over it by reasoning in accordance with Principles of Understanding that are equally fixed and universal. (2) Matter is essentially inert, and the active source or inner seat of rational, selfmotivated activity is a completely distinct mind, or consciousness, within which all the highest mental functions are localized. (3) Geometrical knowledge provides a comprehensive standard of incorrigible certainty, against which all other claims to knowledge must be judged. (pp. 13–14) Naturally, the detailed examination of these axioms is, by and large, a history of the influence of Locke and Descartes, and their effect on what was taken to be the nature of philosophy. Even though their methods were different, and their philosophical inclinations led them in opposite directions in the search for certainty, their basic motivation was similar: a belief in universal principles of human knowledge which would define a standpoint for impartial rational judgements between men from different backgrounds (Toulmin 1972, p. 19). For Rorty (1980), as for Toulmin (1972), the focus is on Descartes and Locke. The major contribution of the Cartesian doctrine and method, Rorty maintains, following the theme expressed in the title of his book as “the Mirror of Nature”, was to transform the Platonic doctrine of knowledge as representation into the idea of knowledge as inner representation of outer reality. Descartes’ mentalization of the Platonic doctrine made it possible for Locke and Kant to develop an epistemological problematic which replaced/or modified the scholastic problematic. The “problem of reason” and associated Pyrrhonic scepticism became dislodged with the ascendancy of “the problem of consciousness” and the new “veil-of-ideas” scepticism. The idea of a theory of knowledge grew up around the problem of knowing whether our inner representations were accurate. “The idea of a discipline devoted to ‘the nature, origins and limits of human knowledge’ required a field of study called the ‘human mind’, and that field of study was what Descartes had created” (Rorty 1980, p. 140). The history of modern epistemology then, Rorty argues, is a history of our preoccupation with Cartesian scepticism. Locke’s contribution to the rise of philosophyas-epistemology was to “make Descartes’ newly contrived ‘mind’ into the subject matter of a ‘science of man’” (p. 137), but only at the cost of losing Cartesian certainty. A way had to be found of making epistemology a non-empirical project before it could come to full self-consciousness, and this job was performed by Kant. Kantian philosophy constitutes the third major ingredient in the conception of philosophy-asepistemology for not only did he raise “the science of man” from an empirical to an a priori level, he also contributed to the notion of philosophy as an autonomous, fully self-conscious discipline in three other ways. First, having identified the central issue of epistemology as one of the relations between two irreducibly distinct sorts of representations—“formal” ones (i.e., concepts) and “material” ones (i.e., intuitions)—he made it possible to see important continuities between the new problematic and older ones, and, thereby, made it possible to write “histories of philosophy” of the modern sort (p. 138).

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Second, “he revived the notion of a ‘complete philosophical system’” by linking epistemology to morality “in the project of ‘destroying reason to make room for faith’” (p. 138); and third, by construing everything we say to be about something we have constituted, he created the possibility for epistemology to become an armchair discipline—a foundational science—“capable of discovering the ‘formal’ (or, in later versions, ‘structural’, ‘phenomenological’, ‘grammatical’, ‘logical’, or ‘conceptual’) characteristics of any area of human life” (p. 139). In Rorty’s view the subsequent developments of this tradition since Kant in the directions of analytic and continental philosophy have been “faithful heirs” to these dominant “images”. It is the notion that human activity (and inquiry, the search for knowledge, in particular) takes place within a framework which can be isolated prior to the conclusion of inquiry— a set of propositions discoverable a priori—which links contemporary philosophy to the Descartes-Locke-Kant tradition. For the notion that there is such a framework only makes sense if we think of this framework as imposed by the nature of the knowing subject, by the nature of his faculties or by the nature of the medium in which he works. The very idea of ‘philosophy’ as something distinct from ‘science’ would make little sense without the Cartesian claim that by turning inward we could find ineluctable truth, and the Kantian claim that this truth imposes limits on the possible results of inquiry. The notion that there could be such a thing as ‘foundations of knowledge’, … or a ‘theory of representation’ … depends on the assumption that there is some a priori constraint. (pp. 8–9)

Toulmin also stresses the same dominant “images” and the continuity linking Kant to Plato, which crystallized into an epistemological problematic that twentieth-century philosophy has both inherited and slowly worked out its ramifications: for Kant, as for Plato, the rationality of a man’s thoughts was still to be judged by universal,— priori principles; for Kant, as for Plato, one particular natural philosophy was uniquely sound in both form and in content; and for Kant, as for Plato, the supreme intellectual merit of this natural philosophy lay in its systematicity and coherence. From very early on, however, this dominant tradition in philosophy had turned itself into a recipe for intellectual authoritarianism rather than genuine impartiality. (p. 48)

Rorty and Toulmin concur in their general analysis of the source of difficulty confronting such a tradition; both view the major source of difficulty of philosophyas-epistemology in its attempt to escape from history—as Rorty puts it, in its “attempt to find non-historical conditions of any possible historical development” (p. 9). They offer interpretations which coalesce at many points; both wish to combat the picture of philosophy-as-epistemology as an autonomous and self-sufficient discipline which is considered prior to and conceptually more fundamental than other areas of cognitive interest; they do so by pointing to the impoverishment of traditional philosophy in dealing with the problem of rationality, and in particular, by tracing the immediate origins of a conception of philosophy-as-epistemology to critical philosophy. It is to critical philosophy now then that I turn my attention, and in particular, the “reflexive turn” characteristic of critical philosophy in order to pose the question “what is distinctive of this approach to the problem of rationality?”

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(b) The Reflexive and Linguistic Turns What is distinctive of the approach of critical philosophy to the problem of rationality is that it is largely based on what has come to be known as the “reflexive turn”—that prior to the acquisition of knowledge, we must first inquire into and establish what may or may not count as knowledge. Based on the reflexive turn, critical philosophy offers a distinctive answer to the problem of rationality, for it maintains, that it is only through an inquiry into the nature and scope of human knowledge that we will be able to determine what counts as knowledge. Implicit in this reflexive method is the assumption that such critical philosophy is both autonomous and neutral. It was assumed, in other words, that the meta-level inquiry was above and beyond the normal structures that applied to human understanding and reason; critical reason was thought to be somehow exempt from the limitations on the legitimate use of reason it had made known. Common to both Kant and Locke was the attempt to resolve certain philosophical questions that occasioned disagreement at the first-order level by inquiring at the second-order level into the nature and scope of our intellectual apparatus to deal with such logical problems. Such second-order inquiries led them to emphasize the limitations in the scope and nature of human reason in the pursuit of these questions, but it was not thought that such limitations applied in any way to our ability to carry out the critical reflection or inquiry in the first place. Rather, it was assumed that whatever limitations were operative at the first-order, somehow evaporated or did not exist when it came to the second-order analysis. It was assumed that somehow this second-order “removal” from first-order questions ensured a privileged access to, and guaranteed a neutral standpoint for investigating those issues which precipitated initial disagreement among philosophers. For instance, Locke (1964) in “The Epistle to the Reader”, which introduces his Essay, writes: Were it fit to trouble thee with the history of this Essay, I should tell thee that five or six friends, meeting at my chamber and discoursing on a subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the difficulties that rose on every side. After we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without coming any nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it came into my thoughts that we took a wrong course; and that before we set ourselves upon inquiries of that nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, and see what objects our understandings were, or were not, fitted to deal with. (p. 56)

Later in the Essay he states his purpose was “to inquire into the origin, certainty, and extent of human knowledge, together with the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion, and assent” (p. 63). Locke’s adoption of the reflexive method was clearly intended as a means of resolving first-order questions and disputes, but in a way that does not require recourse to the original questions or disputes. Critical inquiry, instead, is concerned with determining the nature and scope of our understanding in order to discover in what areas we can hope to attain knowledge, and in what areas we must be content with belief. It is seen as a necessary preliminary to answering substantive questions, and although it provides the means by which to differentiate the limits of knowledge there

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is no suggestion that those same limits will in any way impede the course of critical inquiry. Kant is motivated by similar concerns to Locke, and he adopts the same reflexive strategy. The Critique of Pure Reason (1929) can be read as a critical study of philosophical method in the sense that it is based on the assumption that before we can employ reason in the solution of any philosophical problem it is necessary first to examine its credentials. In the various Prefaces and the Introduction Kant castigates the dogmatism of traditional metaphysicians who use the faculty of reason to come to general conclusions about God, freedom and immortality “without any previous examination of the capacity or incapacity or reason for so great an undertaking” (A3/B7, p. 46). Now it does seem natural that, as soon as we have left the ground of experience, we should, through careful enquiries, assure ourselves as to the foundations of any building we propose to erect, not making use of any knowledge that we possess without first determining whence it has come, and not trusting to principles without knowing their origin. It is natural, that is to say, that the question should first be considered, how the understanding can arrive at all this knowledge a priori, and what extent, validity, and worth it may have. (A3/B7, p. 46)

Later he tells us that “we can regard a science of the mere examination of pure reason, of its sources and limits, as the propaedeutic to the system of pure reason”. As such it should properly be called a critique, and its utility is in clarifying our reason—in keeping it “free from errors”. In other words, Kant believes that prior to examining first-order philosophical questions we must first answer a host of questions concerning philosophical method, and specifically those which will determine for us what counts as genuine knowledge and what does not. Only by answering these crucial preliminary methodological questions are we entitled to believe that we have avoided the risk of error, and, accordingly, not produced a philosophical view which is empty or nonsensical. But notice that Kant nowhere in the Critique addresses the question of how such critical inquiry, itself, is possible. A critical standpoint is established by the reflexive turn and it is considered to be neutral, autonomous, and capable of attaining certainty. There is no suggestion that such a standpoint is, or should be, self-reflexive. Only those standpoints which are self-reflexively consistent, i.e., meet the same standards, or tests for rationality that are laid down in the account, escape the dilemma facing traditional epistemological programmes, and the sceptical challenge based on it to be genuinely self-supporting. They can then be seen to be genuinely self-supporting. The same scepticism that surfaced with the problem of the criterion of truth is repeated here in the form of the problem of the criterion of knowledge, as the Hegelian critique of critical epistemology demonstrates. Any attempt to define an epistemological standpoint in order to identify a criterion of knowledge against which competing knowledge-claims can be SS adjudicated, itself involves a claim to knowledge. Hegel (1892) in the Lesser Logic, elaborates this important point. We ought, says Kant, to become acquainted with the instrument, before we undertake the work for which it is to be employed1 for if the instrument be insufficient, all our trouble will be spent in vain... Unless we wish to be deceived by words, it is easy to see what this amounts to. In the case of other instruments, we can try and criticise them in other ways than by setting about the special work for which they are destined. But the examination

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2 The Problem of Rationality and the Tradition … of knowledge can only be carried out by an act of knowledge. To examine this so-called instrument is the same thing as to know it. But to seek to know before we know is as absurd as the wise resolution of Scholasticus, not to venture into the water until he had learned to swim. (The Logic of Hegel, s. 10)

The formulation of Hegel’s objection can be made in the following terms: any allegedly ultimate principle which attempts to specify the criterion of knowledge—of what counts as authentic knowledge—must itself either appeal to that criterion and therefore face the problem of a vicious circularity, or appeal to some other criterion and therefore face the problem of an infinite regress. This is so because any such principle is itself a claim to knowledge. While Hegel, like Wittgenstein, subscribes to the notion that there is no external standard available in which to ground philosophical systems—no external foundations of philosophical knowledge, just as there are no external foundations to language or scientific knowledge he, nevertheless, resists that such a conclusion involves an ultimate scepticism and subjectivity. To understand Hegel’s proposed solution requires a brief excursion into his conception of philosophy. For Hegel, the history of philosophy is not a competition for the truth by rival philosophical systems. Each system to him exhibits a necessary continuity with its past predecessor, and despite the conceptual transformation the underlying activity of philosophy displays an overall unity in aspiration. There are no hard and fast rules—no criterion of truth or knowledge—which might constitute a transcendental standard for philosophical assessment. Each philosophy is the philosophy of its day, a reflection of the interests of its own epoch, with its own particular standards internal to it. Yet there is an overall unity exhibited through the activity of philosophy, which is like an ongoing or continuing conversation (Lamb 1979). The sceptical challenge to both the conception of philosophy-as-epistemology and to the solution it offers to the problem of rationality originates from its own self-reflexive inconsistency and is most clearly seen in the dilemma that threatens the philosophical search for a foundational certainty and truth, represented not only by the traditional justificationist epistemologies, but also by the attempts in critical philosophy to carry out a neutral analysis of knowledge and reason either directly as in the case of Kant and Locke, or indirectly through the intermediary of language as in the case of modern analytic philosophers. The methodological strategy of the critical or reflexive turn, which represents a continuing quest for a foundational certainty and comprehensive rationality in a presuppositionless metaphilosophy, has its modern equivalent in the linguistic turn taken by twentieth-century philosophy. In broader terms, many consider modern linguistic philosophy as the second wave of critical philosophy and seek to understand its general character by tracing its connections with the past (Smith 1969; Pears 1971). Where Kant’s investigation into the nature of human thought begins with data presented in a psychological form (i.e., ideas, thoughts and modes of thought), the second wave of critical philosophy starts with data presented in linguistic form (i.e., words, sentences and types of discourse). A basic tenet of analytic philosophy is that philosophy of language is to be equated with philosophy of thought; that an account of language is the only adequate means by which to render an account of thought (Dummett 1981, p. 39).

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Neither the basic notion of philosophy-as-epistemology nor its problematic is greatly altered, although it is transposed, by replacing questions of the nature and limits of human understanding and knowledge with questions of the nature and limits of language: the logico-linguistic turn taken by twentieth-century philosophy continues the enterprise of critical philosophy by studying thought and attempting to resolve the problem of rationality through the intermediary of language. The same concern to find a permanent and neutral framework for inquiry—one that will both enable rational agreement among philosophers and sanction the authority of their inquiries—is evident in modern analytic philosophy. Modern analytic philosophy can thus be viewed as a linguistic variant of the epistemological enterprises of Locke and Kant, at least to the extent that it has inherited a doctrine of philosophical autonomy based on a similar critical or reflexive turn. Smith (1969) elaborates the comparison between the first and second waves of critical philosophy. The fact is that the modern analytic enterprise has proceeded along precisely the same lines as those marked out by Kant: in both cases, philosophical theses antecedently identified as metaphysical have been evaluated solely in terms of certain critical or “formal” featuressyntax, logic, semantics-said to govern either the form of our understanding or the proper use of our language. Like its predecessor, the linguistic turn means the marking off of a form of critical or second-order thinking or use of language-metalanguage-aimed at the analysis of the languages in use in science, philosophy, and whatever other intellectual enterprises there may be. (p. 597)

As Smith (1969) rightly points out many linguistic philosophers still hold to the notion that critical philosophy can be carried out in a “neutral way”. They still believe that it is possible to conduct analyses which do no more than clarify or explicate the sense of statements, and which, therefore, do not interpret the expressions to be analysed in any way. Yet the internal development of analytic philosophy has led to the recognition that disagreement is possible on the metaphilosophical level itself, and that, consequently, the claim of neutrality needs to be re-examined (p. 592). The fundamental and familiar proposal basic to modern analytic philosophy that we resolve the problem of philosophical disagreement by analysing language and its use rather than objects and events in the real world, has, perhaps, its most well-known expression in Quine’s (1960) notion of the “semantic ascent”. He writes: The strategy of semantic ascent is that it carries the discussion into a domain where both parties are better agreed on the objects (viz., words) and on the main terms concerning them. (pp. 271–272)

The crucial assumption common to the first and second waves of critical philosophy, then, is that philosophy is an autonomous and foundational activity by virtue of its second-order status and that, therefore, it can take place in a “neutral” fashion without regard to substantive philosophical issues. Such second-order status, it is assumed, not only permits the neutrality of judgement and therefore enables the possibility of agreement, but also accords philosophy its foundational nature as the discipline able to expose, criticize and revise the presuppositions of other disciplines, and to adjudicate between competing beliefs and standards on the basis of certain criteria,

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so that philosophy is often conceived of standing to first-order, and in particular, empirical disciplines, as the study of structure or form to the study of content. Indeed, the whole enterprise of modern analytic philosophy not surprisingly rests on the fundamental “Kantian” duality between scheme and content—a duality that is echoed in a series of distinctions between the analytic and the synthetic, the necessary and the contingent. Rorty (1980) stresses the indispensability of the Kantian framework for modern analytic philosophy. If we do not have the distinction between what is ‘given’ and what is ‘added by the mind’, or that between the ‘contingent’ (because influenced by what is given) and the ‘necessary’ (because entirely ‘within’ the mind and under its control), then we will not know what would count as a ‘rational reconstruction’ of our knowledge. (p. 169)

A little later on, he remarks: Analytic philosophy, cannot, I suspect, be written without one or other of these distinctions. If there are no intuitions into which to resolve concepts (in a manner of the Aufban) nor any internal relations among concepts to make possible ‘grammatical discoveries’ (in the manner of Oxford philosophy), then indeed it is hard to imagine what an ‘analysis’ might be. Wisely few analytic philosophers any longer try to explain what it is to offer an analysis. (p. l 72)

The claim for a philosophical autonomy is a tenet of critical philosophy common to a diverse but wide range of thinkers from Kant to Strawson. Its influence runs very deep for not only is it used to separate philosophy from first-order disciplines, but it is also appealed to by analytic philosophers to distinguish their current philosophical enterprise from what has gone before the doctrine of autonomy, in other words, has become part and parcel of orthodox history of philosophy. Traditional philosophy, accordingly, is often typified as being nonsensical or as originating in a series of mistakes or confusions, and the problems that it posed are characterized either as being demonstrably outside the capacity of human reason to solve or as pseudoproblems that will vanish once seen from the vantage point of a perspicuous language. This attempt to radically separate the current philosophical enterprise from the work of previous philosophers can be taken as one more expression of analytic philosophy’s denial of the relevance of its own past a denial of the historicity of philosophy. Both Ree (1978) and Ayers (1978), along with Rorty and Toulmin among others, have recently stressed the fact that modern analytic philosophy, and, paradoxically, orthodox history of philosophy are deeply anti-historical. This primary feature then, that of the autonomy of philosophy and its status as a second-order, foundational, activity, I have traced back to Kant, although it is clear that many of the distinctions upon which the analytic enterprise rests—in particular the sharp separation of philosophical analysis from both empirical and normative inquiry—represent refinements to the Kantian view to be found in the more immediate logicist legacy of Frege, Russell and the early Wittgenstein, and, more generally, that of logical positivism. With the linguistic turn modern analytic philosophy has at the same time narrowed and consolidated this view for it is commonly held that philosophy is a non-theoretical activity concerned primarily with the neutral description, clarification and analysis of concepts and propositions—their logical relations and presuppositions. But the concern for the meaning of concepts and propositions does not give philosophy a

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new image for it remains a view which, in the grand manner of philosophy, addresses itself to the perennial question of intellectual diversity both through time and across cultures, and one which stresses the autonomy of philosophy in providing a set of absolute and universally valid criteria by reference to which competing beliefs and standards can be rationally evaluated. Of recent analytic philosophy the most important proposals set forth with the aim of providing a standpoint for reaching agreement in philosophical discussion and ultimately for isolating criteria to adjudicate between competing beliefs and knowledgeclaims have been the original positivist verification principle; the proposal for the construction of an ideal language; and finally, the appeal to ordinary language as a canon for analysis. Each of these proposals represents a quest for certainty in metaphilosophy, but it is the last of them—ordinary language analysis—that has come to dominate in the philosophy of education, and it is this proposal and the claims of autonomy and neutrality made on behalf of it that constitute the subject of the next chapter. For the moment, however, I am concerned to sketch the rise of linguistic philosophy and, in particular, that of ordinary language analysis. This brief historical sketch of the rise of linguistic philosophy woven around the early and later Wittgenstein, constitutes the last ingredient in a “story” which is intended to provide the background or context necessary both for understanding and assessing the claims made by philosophers of education about philosophy and the nature of their own specialist field.

(c) Wittgenstein and the Rise of Linguistic Philosophy The philosophy of the linguistic turn originated at Cambridge with Russell and Moore largely in reaction to the neo-Hegelian idealism of Bradley at Oxford, and McTaggart at Cambridge. The “linguistic” philosophy of the early Moore and Russell was not only a Realist attack on Idealism, involving a rejection of the doctrine of internal relations, it also initially represented a break with the British empiricist tradition through its anti-psychologistic emphasis on logic. The primacy of logical questions, and their sharp separation from psychological questions—in part a legacy from Frege— accompanied a change in the conception of philosophy, Increasingly, philosophy was conceived as a study of thought through the intermediary of language—a study which was facilitated by the tools of the “new” logic and the development of a method of analysis. It may appear somewhat curious, then, that it was largely Moore’s and Russell’s preoccupation with the problem of scepticism that eventually led to the recovery of British empiricism (Ayer 1971; Morris 1979). Broadly speaking, Moore’s response to scepticism was to defend the so-called common sense view of the world, in part, by challenging the legitimacy of the sceptic’s claims—a fact that has led some philosophers to construe him as both a forerunner and exponent of ordinary language philosophy. Russell, on the other hand, accepted the sceptical challenge and was more concerned to provide a justification of those beliefs he took to constitute our empirical

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knowledge. For him, science, although originating in common sense had advanced far beyond it, and he held that there were serious incompatibilities between the two. Russell, thus, advocated the use of the scientific method in philosophy grounded in the proper use of logic. A foundationalism and empiricism came to dominate his conception of philosophy, and in view of these central features Russell clearly stands much closer to the British empiricists than he does to either Moore or Wittgenstein (Pears 1972a; Ayers 1972). The revolutionary aspect of this first phase of linguistic philosophy, however, lay in its method of analysis and theory of meaning. The method of logical analysis of language represented the end to the search for a neutral standpoint for solving traditional philosophical problems. The origins of the method and theory are to be found in Frege’s work in logic and the foundations of mathematics. Frege’s antipsychologistic logicism and consequent theory of meaning had considerable influence on Russell and Wittgenstein, who subsequently modified and developed a method of analysis and an associated theory of meaning based on Fregean ideas. The application of the “new” logic to the analysis of language lay at the basis of the methodological revolution. Russell (1914), for instance, was to write: The old logic put thought in fetters, while the new logic gives it wings. It has in my opinion introduced the same kind of advance into philosophy as Galileo introduced into physics, making it possible at last to see what kinds of problems may be capable of solution, and what kinds must be abandoned as beyond human powers. (p. 63)

Russell, however, applied the semantic doctrine of Frege (and later of Wittgenstein) which came from the new logic to epistemological issues. This application was in part a result of Russell’s conception of philosophy and his preoccupation with the problem of scepticism. The philosophy of logical atomism illustrates both the method of analysis and the differing orientations of Wittgenstein and Russell. For both Wittgenstein in the Tractatus (1921) and Russell in The Philosophy of Logical Atomism (1918), logical analysis of ordinary language would reveal the true function and form of statements—that of picturing facts—and thus clarify the confusion and pseudo-problems generated when philosophers improperly used language. But for Russell, logical analysis was considered a tool that both prevents us from mistaking the apparent for the actual logical form of a fact-stating sentence and at the same time enables us to discover new information about the facts themselves. Although there is considerable agreement between Russell and Wittgenstein over the basic principles of “logical atomism”, they differ radically in their aims and the use to which they put basic principles. Thus, both accept the thesis of extensionality—that at the end of analysis all propositions will appear as truth-functions of elementary propositions—and employ Russell’s theory of description as the main piece of apparatus for analysis. Further, they both accept the need for logically proper names and embrace a version of the correspondence theory of truth. But whereas Russell uses the method of analysis as a methodological tool to justify a certain view of knowledge, for Wittgenstein there is simply no other way to explain the connection between language and the world.

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In the Tractatus Wittgenstein was concerned to develop an account of linguistic representation given in terms of a picture theory of language. He, like Russell, advocated an essentialist theory of meaning which, roughly speaking, maintained that the meaning of a word is its referent, and that it is possible to discover the common function for the class of fact-stating or declarative sentences. In the Preface to that work Wittgenstein says his aim is to draw a limit to the expression of thought by drawing a limit to the significant use of language, and the line of demarcation became for him one that, in the end, separated off “scientific” or fact-stating talk from all other areas of discourse. In particular, he argues, we determine the Sinn (sense) of a Satz (sentence) by determining under what conditions it is called true (4.063); we fix the Sinn of a Satz by determining what truth-possibilities the Satz agrees and disagrees (2.201; 4.2). Thus, the framework of significant language (i.e., scientific discourse) is fixed objectively in advance: all sentences are truth-functions of elementary sentences, which describe or purport to describe simple states of affairs in the world. This, in fact, is taken to be their essence. “The general form of a Satz is: This is how things stand” (4.53). The role Wittgenstein assigns the Satze of logic is, in many ways, the outcome of an uneasy tension between his picture theory on the one hand, and his theory of truth functionality on the other. On the former Wittgenstein wants to deny tautologies and contradictions propositional status for they are not pictures of reality; they do not represent any possible situations (4.462). Yet on the basis of the latter theory, Wittgenstein mentions them as the two extreme cases among the possible groups of truth-conditions: “the ‘significance’ of empirical propositions and the ‘senselessness’ of logical propositions are symbolized in the same T-F notation” (Dilman 1973, p. 99). Tautologies and contradictions say nothing for they are unconditionally true and false respectively (4.461). Unlike the empirical Satze whose truth-conditions determine the range it leaves open to the facts, “a tautology leaves open to reality the whole … of logical space” and “a contradiction fills the whole of logical space …Thus neither of them can determine reality in any way” (4.463). (senseless), but not Unsinnig. Accordingly, they are Sinnloss (nonsense) (4.4611) for they are part of the symbolism; the limiting cases of the combination of signs (4.466) and they show not only that they are tautologies and contradictions which say nothing (4.461; 6.127), but also that, as part of logic and language, they mirror the formal properties of the world (5.511; 6.12; 6.13). Much of the Kantian flavour of Wittgenstein’s enterprise is, thus, revealed in the way he uses logic to plot the necessary limits of factual discourse. But what of the propositions of philosophy, and of the Tractatus in particular? These on the Tractarian model are consigned to the realm of Unsinnig (nonsense). However, within this class Wittgenstein distinguishes between varieties of “good” and “bad” nonsense. “Bad” nonsense results from misusing the symbolism. It arises when philosophers mistake the apparent for the actual logical form of a sentence. By contrast, “good” nonsense— that characterized by “propositions” of the Tractatus—is illuminating for it attempts to “say” something about the relation of language and the world. The “propositions” of the Tractatus are elucidations in that they point at truths they cannot express

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factually. They are devices for making us aware of what cannot be said, but only shown (6.54), i.e., the constraints of logical syntax. In light of these comments it is not so difficult to understand Wittgenstein’s concept of philosophy—an important source of continuity between his early and later work. Philosophy, for Wittgenstein, is above all “a critique of language” (4.0031) and as such it is to be distinguished from the natural sciences (4.111). The questions of philosophers arise from “our failure to understand the logic of our language” (4.003). Philosophy aims at the logical clarification of thoughts. Philosophy is not a body of doctrine but an activity. A philosophical work consists essentially of elucidations. Philosophy does not result in ‘philosophical propositions’, but rather in the clarification of propositions. (4.112)

The Tractatus, then, directly reflects the influence of Frege in that Frege did not take epistemological questions as core (Dummett 1981, p. 61), whereas Russell did, or at the very least was concerned to arrange a convenient marriage between his theory of meaning and his empiricism. Wittgenstein was not concerned to provide firm foundations for knowledge. His aim was strictly explication and clarification, never justification—a view to which he adheres in his later philosophy. Hacker (1972) maintains that Wittgenstein had little genuine interest in the theory of knowledge. “From the beginning of his philosophical career to its end, Wittgenstein’s central concern was the nature of language” (p. 33). Wittgenstein’s contribution to epistemology in his post-1929 writings was not the result of “a sudden change of interest”: they were a “by-product of his later doctrines of meaning”, of the fact that “the analysis of meaning cannot be wholly separated from the epistemological notions of evidence and justifiable cognitive claims” (p. 34). At one point in the Tractatus, for instance, Wittgenstein following Frege’s stringent anti-psychologism, characterizes epistemology as the philosophy of psychology (4.1121). Russell’s logical atomism, by contrast, admits of private mental contents for he introduces the notion of immediate experience in the form of sense-data as the anchor for ultimate atoms of meaning. He held that non-logical expressions have meanings, if and only if, they signify existent things. Thus, although there are similarities in content between Russell and Wittgenstein and although they are in agreement over the basic principles of “logical atomism”, they are utterly dissimilar in their aims. On this interpretation it is a mistake to construe Wittgenstein as attempting to anchor complex truths in simple truths rather he was analysing one in terms of the other, and this predominantly reductive analysis (accompanied by the search for atoms of meaning) held sway during the first phase of the rise of linguistic philosophy. It is instructive at this early stage to view the differences between Russell and Wittgenstein in terms of their conceptions of philosophy: where Russell focused on an epistemological approach in philosophy maintaining that the problem is to discover and formulate foundations of knowledge, Wittgenstein even in his early work reacted against this point of view. Where Russell is concerned with the actual world and with the structure of facts, Wittgenstein is more concerned with alternative possible worlds and with the structure of possibilities. Baker and Hacker (1980) endorse this interpretation. In characterizing Wittgenstein’s early view of Russell’s

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conception of philosophy they note that Wittgenstein’s central objections “crystallize around his [i.e., Russell’s] view that science and philosophy are akin in method and product”. They continue: For Russell, Cartesian doubt is a method of isolating the ‘hard’ from the ‘soft’ which will ensure epistemologically secure foundations; for Wittgenstein, Cartesian doubt is nonsensical. For Russell, Occam’s razor is a methodological principle which will minimize epistemological risks; for Wittgenstein it is a logical principle which will eliminate redundancy (NB, 42). For Russell, non-demonstrable support probabilities philosophical conclusions; for Wittgenstein it is irrelevant since there can be nothing merely probable in philosophy. The differences in method, for Wittgenstein, reflect the differences in product. The method of science is hypotheticodeductive, but there can be no hypotheses in philosophy. A scientific hypothesis which is disproved by experience is false, but not nonsense. Philosophy, which plots the bounds of sense, cannot produce ‘false’ philosophical propositions; if it errs, then its product is not falsehood but nonsense. (p. 465)

Despite these differences there is one important sense in which Wittgenstein and Russell were alike: both perpetuated the idea of a first philosophy whose major concern was the search for foundations. For Wittgenstein, however, it was a linguistic first philosophy which was concerned to find foundations of language, rather than of knowledge. It was Wittgenstein’s influence that led to the notion, familiar in the work of logical positivists and characteristic of “impure” philosophy of language, that epistemological issues are to be correctly reformulated within a theory of meaning. But Wittgenstein, in his later works, came to reject a number of important doctrines he had held in the Tractatus, including the essentialist theory of meaning and the strict logicism and isomorphism demanded by it. Where Wittgenstein earlier had maintained that the structure of reality determines the structure of language he came to suggest that our language, rather, determines our view of reality. Where earlier he had argued that all languages share a common logical structure which can be disclosed by analysis, he came to argue for the diversity of linguistic forms. A consequence of the first of these basic doctrinal changes involved giving up the notion of foundations for language: as no justification for linguistic practices could be found in an independent reality outside language, if it was sought at all, it must lie within them, and ultimately within the form of life they, in part, comprised. A consequence of the second change involved liberating language (and, in particular, grammar) from the previous formal, logicist assumptions that dominated the earlier conception of language. In the Investigations Wittgenstein rejected essentialism and instead came to embrace a much wider view of language holding, in general terms, that the meaning of a word is its use within a “language-game” (23–43). The game analogy provided Wittgenstein with the means to emphasize, among other things, the diversity of linguistic usage. Considering the use of the notion “game” he writes in a now famous and often quoted passage: We see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities; sometimes similarities of detail. (66)

and adds in the next paragraph, I can think of no better expression to characterize these similarities than ‘family resemblances’… And I shall say: ‘games’ form a ‘family’.

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Misconceptions about language arise, then, when in our craving for unity and generality (B.B., p. 19f), from the uniform appearance of words we mistakenly assume their uniform application, insisting the every word can be given a precise or strict definition (P.I., 11). Wittgenstein informs us in a preliminary study to the Investigations: “what causes most trouble in philosophy is that we are tempted to describe the use of important ‘odd-job’ words as though they were words with regular functions” (B.B., p. 41). He admonishes us, in considering the meaning of a word, not to guess or think but to look at how the word is used in various contexts (P.I., 66), and he stresses the multiplicity of these contexts or language-games (P.I., 23). Wittgenstein’s own investigations are not meant as classifications, but rather “to enable the reader to shift for himself when he encounters conceptual difficulties (P.I., 92); a picture holds us captive (P.I., 115); or “we do not command a clear view of the use of our words” (P.I., 122). Thus, “philosophy is the battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language”, (P.I., 109) and it is the business of philosophy to make it possible, by attending to the way words and sentences are used in actual contexts, to command a clear view of a segment of our language—to assemble reminders (P.I., 127) of what already lies in plain view. Philosophy may in no way interfere with the actual use of language; it can in the end only describe it. For it cannot give it any foundation either. It leaves everything as it is. (P.I., 124)

Clearly, Wittgenstein is repudiating the notion of foundations of language, and thereby, the idea of a linguistic first philosophy whose central concern is the search for criteria which define, in the form of necessary conditions, our most fundamental concepts and beliefs. The earlier “linguistic foundationalism” had continued the dominant epistemological problematic, for philosophy conceived of as a reductive method of analysis was still viewed as the logically necessary propaedeutic (in Kant’s sense) to answering other philosophical questions. With Wittgenstein’s new view of language and philosophy, no longer could it be said that analysis involved a regress. In Reductive Analysis the regress was thought to terminate in those foundations of language—atoms of meaning—which had meaning by virtue of their relation to a non-linguistic world. Unhappily, the shift from Reductive to Conceptual Analysis did not do much to change the dominating conception of philosophy or its problematic. Although those philosophers who employed the method of Conceptual Analysis claimed Wittgenstein as their forefather, their interpretation of philosophy and of philosophical method was—and is—anti-Wittgensteinian, for philosophy as Conceptual Analysis preserved those essential features from the Analytic Tradition. Its position vis-à-vis other disciplines: its foundational second-order status: its neutral method and its espoused autonomy were not greatly affected by replacing a search for atoms of meaning with a search for essences of meaning. Conceptual Analysis is often seen as a form of Ordinary Language Philosophy. While it certainly involves an appeal to ordinary language, Conceptual Analysis— especially as practised by analytic philosophers of education—seems more akin to the earlier Reductive Analysis than to Ordinary Language Philosophy, at least as conceived by Wittgenstein. The predominantly reductive analysis characterized by

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the search for criteria of the use of concepts, has been moved centrally into the court of ordinary language but the basic tenets of the Analytic Tradition reMain. Yet, in a number of important ways, Ordinary Language Philosophy as it originated with the later Wittgenstein represents a break with the Analytic Tradition. Gilroy (1982) has recognized this crucial point: Wittgenstein is often taken as the father-figure of linguistic analysis…, but this is to ignore the fact that, although he was once happy to accept Reductive Analysis, his rejection of it involved a rejection of Conceptual Analysis too and thus of linguistic analysis per se. It is perhaps an indication not only of the ambiguity of the term ‘linguistic analysis’ but also of much of his later work that he should be so classified …. (p. 79)

Gilroy (1982), then proceeds to argue for this position by reference to Wittgenstein’s attack on essentialism; “on the view that there is one essential way in which language has meaning, and, at the particular level, upon the view that individual words or concepts have an essential meaning” (p. 80). He argues further that as looking at the actual use of concepts involves reference to the presuppositions of a particular social context, “the danger of an infinite regression of analysis is therefore recognized and the regression halted not, as before, at atoms of meaning, but within a particular social context” (p. 80). His argument leads him into a discussion of the Criterion Doctrine. Against those who argue that the criterion provides logically necessary and sufficient conditions for the application of a concept, Gilroy (1982) puts the interpretation (Albritton 1959; Wellman 1962; Canfield 1974) that “the connection between a criterion and what it is a criterion for is a conventional one and can change drastically” (p. 81). Gilroy continues this line, arguing that if it were possible to arrive at essences of meaning by identifying criteria in the form of logically necessary and sufficient conditions, then argument by counter-example would be impossible. He concludes that the certainties offered by the non-conventionalist view of criteria are replaced by Wittgenstein’s view, “founded, as it is, on actual use which would allow for as many uses as meaningful (that is, operative) examples” (p. 81). Such a “pluralistic” interpretation of Wittgenstein clearly distances him from the Analytic Tradition, but the break can be shown in a number of other ways too. The later Wittgenstein, although he still wants to distinguish philosophy from science, does hold to its status as a second-order or foundational discipline. In the Investigations, for instance, he writes: One might think: if philosophy speaks of the use of the word ‘philosophy’ there must be a second-order philosophy. But this is not so: it is, rather, like the case of orthography which deals with the word ‘orthography’ among others without then being second-order. (121)

Kenny (1982) considering Wittgenstein’s approach to mathematics interprets him in a similar vein: there is no metamathematics, Wittgenstein says, philosophy is not meta-anything; that is, it is not a science which studies a discipline as a whole and gives it a foundation. It is not a second-order activity at all. (p. 11)

Even in the Tractatus, Wittgenstein avoids any commitment to the notion of philosophy as a second-order discipline. His doctrine of saying and showing, which remains

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for him a central theme (Harward 1976; Hacker 1972, p. 159ff), is used in response to Russell; Wittgenstein argues that the theory of types or a metalanguage is both unnecessary theme (Harward 1976; Hacker 1972, p. 159ff), is used in response to Russell; Wittgenstein argues that the theory of types or a metalanguage is both unnecessary and superfluous in order to resolve the paradoxes of self-reference (3.331; 3.332). At 4.12 Wittgenstein remarks: Propositions can represent the whole of reality, but they cannot represent what they must have in common with reality in order to be able to represent it—logical form. In order to be able to represent logical form we should have to be able to station ourselves with propositions somewhere outside logic, that is to say outside the world.

What cannot be said, but only shown becomes manifest in the symbolism; form is shown by the logical syntax. Geach (1976), who attributes the origin of the showing doctrine in the Tractatus to Frege, maintains: (1) Frege already held, and his philosophy of logic would oblige him to hold, that there are logical category-distinctions which will clearly show themselves in a well-constructed formalized language, but which cannot properly be asserted in language: the sentences in which we seek to convey them in the vernacular are logically improper and admit of no translation into wellformed formulas of symbolic logic. All the same, there is a test for these sentences’ having conveyed the intended distinctions—namely, that by their aid mastery of the formalized language is attainable. (2) The category-distinctions in question are features both of verbal expressions and also of the reality our language is describing: in consequence, the manoeuvre of ‘semantic ascent’—transformation of talk about things in the world into talk about expressions in a language—is in principle entirely futile as an attempt to resolve problems, or in particular to remove the difficulty about unsayables raised under (l). (p. 55)

The Wittgenstein break with the Analytic Tradition, and, in particular with “linguistic foundationalism” is further evidenced in Wittgenstein’s rejection of both nominalism (P.I., 383) and the doctrine of external relations, and his acceptance of semantic holism. These features of the later Wittgenstein’s philosophy not only clearly separate him from the tradition of British Empiricism (Schwyzer 1973), they also lend weight to a Hegelian interpretation of his work. Once again it is Frege who provides the source for Wittgenstein’s ideas. The Fregean dictum that a word has meaning only in the context of a sentence is adopted by Wittgenstein in the Tractatus (3.3; 3.314; 4.23) and serves to distinguish him from Russell who took the meaning of a word to consist simply in the object with which one is directly acquainted. It is in the Investigations wherein developing the notion of semantic holism, Wittgenstein is at pains to reject Russell’s thesis concerning logically proper names and thereby the enterprise of giving secure foundations to empirical knowledge. Naming is so far not a move in the language-game—any more than putting a piece in its place on the board is a move in chess. We may say: nothing has so far been done, when a thing has been named. It has not even got a name except in the language ame. This was what Frege meant too, when he said that a word has meaning only as part of a sentence. (P.I. I p. 49)

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In his post-1929 writings, however, “Wittgenstein’s holism is neither dependent upon, nor gives support to, the Fregean conception of the functional structure of language”; there is “no central place in Wittgenstein’s theory of meaning for the notion of truthconditions” (Hacker 1979, p. 234). In the Investigations the holistic principle is taken a step further for Wittgenstein wants to maintain: “To understand a sentence means to understand a language. To understand a language means to be master of a technique” (199). The point here is that no sentence has meaning in isolation. “The understanding of one sentence is not independent of other similar sentences” (Hacker 1979, p. 234). Wittgenstein’s holism has its ultimate expression in the concept of a form of life, comprising the various overlapping language-games, themselves “consisting of language and the actions into which it is woven” (P.I., 7). Later, in On Certainty (1969), Wittgenstein spells out the epistemological implications of his holistic theory of meaning. In that work he claims that our beliefs (141) and our doubts (126) form a system and stresses how a certain framework provides the axis (152), scaffolding (211), or hinges (341), of our thoughts and actions; what we hold fast to is “a nest of propositions” (225). “All testing, all confirmation and disconfirmation of a hypothesis”, Wittgenstein writes at 105, “takes place already within a system … The system is … the element within which arguments have their life”. It is a claim that Wittgenstein repeats a number of times in various ways (166: 248: 2531 274: 410). The epistemological consequences of a holistic theory of meaning have already been foreshadowed in the Philosophical Grammar (1969), where Wittgenstein asserts that the calculus itself has no ground (p. 110) and that grammar is not accountable to any reality (p. 185): and in the Investigations, where Wittgenstein talks of justification; of the chain of reasons coming to an end (326, 482, 485). ‘How am I able to obey a rule?’—If this is not a question about causes, then it is about the justification for my following the rule in the way I do. If I have exhausted the justifications I have reached bedrock, and my spade is turned. Then I am inclined to say: ‘This is simply what I do’. (P.I., 217)

Wittgenstein’s assertion of the liberation of grammar from logic, and his consequent rejection of any extra-linguistic justification for language and knowledge is taken by Pears (1971) to amount to a radical anthropocentrism. It is Wittgenstein’s later doctrine that outside human thought and speech there are no independent, objective points of support, and meaning and necessity are preserved only in the linguistic processes which embody them. They are safe only because the practices gain a certain stability from the rules. But even the rules do not provide a fixed point of reference, because they always allow divergent interpretations. What really gives the practices their stability is that we agree in our interpretations of the rules. We could say that this is fortunate, except that this would be like saying that it is fortunate that life on earth tolerates the earth’s natural atmosphere. What we ought to say is that there is as much stability as there is. (p. 179)

Rorty (1976), while recognizing that Pears’ account is “the most fully thought out and most perceptive treatment of the method and aim of the Investigations which has appeared” (p. 339) criticizes Pears for interpreting Wittgenstein, within a framework of a set of distinctions (‘linguistic facts’ versus other facts, convention versus nature, conditional versus unconditional necessity, philosophy versus science, sense

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2 The Problem of Rationality and the Tradition … versus nonsense, ‘factual knowledge’ versus other realms of discourse) which themselves are left over from the Tractatus and which cannot be used without perpetuating the notion of philosophy as a distinct Fach. (p. 340)

Rorty is emphasizing that in the later Wittgenstein, contra Kantianism, there is no transcendental source for the way in which we speak, think and act; there is no transcendental standard which forms the basis and foundation of our language use and our thinking. There is only some precipitate of common judgements and culturally shared agreements that stand fast for us. Wittgenstein does not present a simple coherentist account of knowledge. Even the idea of justification coming to an end implies a foundation of sorts or a “given”. The notion of foundations is introduced explicitly in On Certainty. “Something must be taught us as a foundation” (449: see also 308: 373). But the foundation is not a set of ungrounded propositions, “it is an ungrounded way of acting” (110). Wittgenstein appeals to the fact that we simply do certain things, we in particular ways, but this appeal is not made to human acting in isolation. It is made to acting as a precondition of the use of language (“our talk gets its meaning from the rest of our proceedings” 229), and as part of an interconnected whole; our form of life. The system, then, is our foundation; the form of life is the given. Nevertheless, within the system some propositions perform a privileged role. But while they constitute the framework of the system and form the foundation of operating with thoughts they do not provide grounds for the system (401). It is here that it can be seen that Wittgenstein has moved away from the Analytic Tradition for he does not invoke any distinction between analytic and synthetic truths; between logical propositions which might be thought to form the framework (as in the Tractatus) and synthetic proposition which give the content. In Quinean fashion Wittgenstein denies there is any fundamental cleavage either between propositions that stand fast for us and those that do not, or between logical and empirical propositions (Shiner 1978). We learn to make empirical judgements and to accept the sorts of empirical propositions put forward by Moore not by learning rules (95; 140), nor by testing them against experience (94, 102, 130, 135). We learn them by being “taught judgement and their connexion with other judgements. A totality of judgements is made plausible to us” (140). We come to believe a whole system of propositions (141) and within the game involving this world-picture (95), the Moorean propositions have “a peculiar logical role” (136). They function like rules of the game, but the game is learned practically, without learning any explicit rules. “The truth of certain empirical propositions belongs to our frame of reference” (83); “it forms part of the inherited background against which I distinguish between true and false” (94). In On Certainty Wittgenstein is not so much concerned with adducing arguments against the position of scepticism as Moore, and earlier Descartes, tried to do; rather he recasts the traditional debate between the sceptic and his adversary into the framework of language-games where the questions raised by the sceptic and the answers given by the philosopher who wishes to defend the certainty of some type of proposition, are seen as enterprises which, in important ways, misconstrue what it is to know,

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doubt and be certain, though in other ways, nevertheless, provide us with valuable insights into the nature of language-games. Wittgenstein points out that a universal doubt is impossible to coherently entertain for doubts belong within the nexus of particular language-games. He writes. “A doubt that doubted everything would not be a doubt” (450) and, again, “A doubt without an end is not even a doubt” (625). The reason why this is so is because doubt must come after belief (160). “Doubting and non-doubting behaviour. There is the first only if there is the second” (3541 cf Tractatus, 6.51). In a way, I believe, Wittgenstein is suggesting that the total sceptic does not know how to play the language-game. Just as the student who, during a history lesson, persistently holds up progress by inquiring about the uniformity of nature has not learned the game that we are trying to teach him (315 cf., “This doubt isn’t one of the doubts in our game” 317), so too, the sceptic misunderstands the nature of doubting in his language-game. He demonstrates this by his behaviour in asking nonsensical questions and raising meaningless doubts about the foundations of language-games which allow him, in the first place, to converse with others meaningfully. That it is possible to entertain doubts is not in question. What Wittgenstein is attempting to clarify is the boundary between cases where doubt is unreasonable, and those where it seems logically impossible, but the dividing line is not clear (454). If it does not make sense to doubt the “framework” propositions—to do so would be to call into question the framework within which we make sense of the doubt—it also does not make sense to claim to know them. This is the tenor of Wittgenstein’s discussion of Moore’s claims to knowledge, for although he thought Moore’s propositions about the external world had the equivalent status of mathematical propositions, he, nevertheless, held that they did not provide proof of the external world (209; 220) and that claims to know them are senseless (6, 13, 21, 59). As such, then, these propositions have the character of rules of grammar which define the game—to doubt them is to put the game in jeopardy, to claim to know them is, except in special circumstances (23), misleading (84; 401) or senseless (350; 464) “I know that p”, Wittgenstein seems to be saying, only makes sense where “I doubt that p” or “I do not know that p” also makes sense. In other words, the correct use of the expression “I know” carries with it the legitimate question “how do you know?” (483; 550; 576), just as doubt itself also requires grounds (323; 458; 519). While there is a strong suggestion from Wittgenstein that the traditional epistemological enterprise is based on a fundamental mistake for each of the key notions “knowledge”, “doubt” and “certainty” do not have one fundamental and clear meaning (cf. P.I., 116), Wittgenstein himself can be seen as adopting a sceptical position to the notion of foundationalism for he wants to say, contrary to foundationalists, that there is no justification available outside the framework of a practice: “the language-game is so to say unpredictable. I mean: it is not based on grounds. It is not reasonable (or unreasonable). It is there-like our life” (o.c.: 559). Kripke (1981) in fact argues that Wittgenstein in the Investigations is raising a problem in the tradition of scepticism of human knowledge that goes much deeper than the scepticism of Hume, for Wittgenstein’s scepticism, according to Kripke,

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moves beyond empirical knowledge of the world to include even logic and mathematics. Kripke regards the fundamental problem Wittgenstein raises in the philosophy of mathematics and of the “private language argument” as “at root identical, stemming from his paradox” at 201~ “no course of action could be determined by a rule, because every course of action can be made out to accord with the rule.” Any attempt to answer the sceptic by appealing from one rule to another more “basic” rule is open to a regress so “It seems my application of … [a rule is an unjustified stab in the dark. I apply the rule blindly” (p. 247). Wittgenstein’s sceptical solution to this problem, Kripke maintains, begins by conceding the sceptic’s assertions are unanswerable—there are no necessary and sufficient conditions (i.e., truth-conditions) for applying or following a rule; there is no “correct” analysis of what such rule following consists in. A description of the game of concept attribution constitutes Wittgenstein’s sceptical solution, for what are considered “rules” are simply the embodiment of how we do in fact think and the ultimate ground for our knowledge is how we act and live (see also Boltzmann and Leich 1981). Indeed, in combating the traditional conception of philosophy-as-epistemology Wittgenstein proposes a “solution” that has many points in common with Greek scepticism (Hallie 1964; Watson 1969). Both philosophies reject metaphysical systembuilding and the conception of philosophy-as-epistemology in favour of our ordinary ways of talking and acting. Philosophy on both accounts is seen to consist of therapeutic attempts to unravel, clarify and dissolve the puzzles that come about when philosophers ignore ordinary ways of talking. The intent is to “cure” the philosophical “disease” and to liberate those suffering from it: to that extent both philosophies are eudaemonistic. Equally both emphasize the criteria of ordinary talk, which takes place against the background of established practices, for deciding whether a claim is true and ultimately point to the grounding of such talk in our acting—in our needs and purposes. Finally, both wish to do away with philosophy altogether: to make traditional philosophy redundant by helping us to restore reason and the various expression it finds in language to its home in our everyday language-games. Such scepticism also aligns Wittgenstein with Hegel and gives some grounds for a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein. Norman (1981) suggests that the Hegelian idea that philosophy must find its starting point within ordinary consciousness—an idea put forward in the Introduction to the Phenomenology of Mind—bears a resemblance to both Husserl and Wittgenstein. Common to all three conceptions of philosophy is the recognition that philosophy cannot stand outside ordinary consciousness and evaluate it by reference to some external standard: the starting point must be a pretheoretical one. For both the phenomenologists and Wittgenstein, Norman asserts, this orientation is expressed in the notion that philosophy cannot explain, it can only describe. Norman (1981) elaborates this point by reference to Wittgenstein’s discussion of the notion of following a rule. [Wittgenstein] shows that since any rule can be variously interpreted the correct interpretation of a rule cannot itself be ultimately grounded in a rule, and that therefore ultimately the only justification can be ‘This is how we go on!’ Hence Wittgenstein’s assertion that the use

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of language presupposes agreement in judgements, and that the judgements which people actually make are in some way constitutive of what counts as a correct judgement. (p. 14)

Lamb (1978) building on the thesis proposed by Taylor (1972) that there is a close affinity between the later Wittgenstein and Hegel on language and sense-certainty, carries the parallels even further. He contends that both philosophers advanced similar arguments against the empiricist account of the relation between language and reality. Like Wittgenstein, Hegel draws attention to the fact that sense experience itself is dependent upon a wealth of institutionalized practices, culture and training, and to deny this is to engage in a most ‘abstract’ enterprise which illicitly ignores the system of relations in which a reference to sense immediacy is made. (p. 286)

Lamb further suggests that Hegel comes close to the semantic holism espoused by Wittgenstein—a point to which I have already given consideration—and that there are parallels between Hegel’s objection to Kant’s critical method and Wittgenstein’s later criticism of the Tractatus. In the Tractatus Wittgenstein had attempted to discover the ‘general form of a proposition’ but ostensibly failed to resolve the same logical circle which Hegel saw in the Kantian critique, namely, that one must use language (knowledge) in order to examine language (knowledge). The attempt to express the essence of language cannot be expressed in language. The reason why Wittgenstein eventually took it upon himself to describe the actual use of language is not unrelated to Hegel’s decision in the Phenomenology, to describe the actual experience of knowledge. (p. 297)

I have stressed both here and in the Introduction the extent to which the later Wittgenstein may be interpreted in Hegelian terms. I have focused particularly on Wittgenstein’s holism, his acceptance of internal relations, and his consequent rejection of reductionistic and foundational approaches to both language and knowledge. The Hegelian interpretation of Wittgenstein and the idea that the later Wittgenstein represents a break with the Analytic Tradition, I have presented as mutually consistent and supporting interpretations. Finally, I have interpreted the later Wittgenstein’s philosophy as an assault on the tradition of philosophy-as-epistemology, on a conception of philosophy which views itself as making a fundamental claim to rationality by providing a set of ahistorical and cross-culturally valid standards by reference to which competing knowledge-claims may be evaluated. Contrary to notions of absolute rationality, then, I have interpreted Wittgenstein as espousing a notion of constitutive rationality which denies the possibility of universally valid or acontextual reasons: what counts as a reason is determined by the framework or system in which it has a use. Further, if what counts as a reason is determined by the system or languagegame in which it has a use, and if language-games can change, then the notion of constitutive rationality espoused by Wittgenstein must be considered a truly dynamic one. Certainty as part of “our natural history” (P.I., 25) language-games can change: “new types of language, new language-games, as we may say, come into existence, and others become obsolete and get forgotten” (P.I., 23, cf., 400; 401; O.C. 65; 256). The nature of such change is revealed in Wittgenstein’s choice of the “river bed” metaphor in On Certainty. Having already denied that there is any sharp boundary

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between logical and empirical propositions—that some type of empirical proposition performs a peculiarly logical role within the system—Wittgenstein addresses himself to the question of change in the “framework” propositions. It might be imagined that some propositions, of the form of empirical propositions, were hardened and functioned as channels for such empirical propositions as were not hardened but fluid; and that this relation altered with time, in that fluid propositions hardened, and hard ones became fluid. The mythology may change back into a state of flux, the river-bed of thoughts may shift. But I distinguish between the movement of the waters on the river-bed and the shift of the bed itself; though there is not a sharp division of the one from the other. (96–97)

It is clear that though change in the “river-bed” is less likely than that of the “water” passing over it, it is still possible. Hacker (1972) in examining the determinants of conceptual change in Wittgenstein’s thesis of the liberation of grammar writes that the thesis itself: is firmly located in the voluntarist tradition of European metaphysics which, not surprisingly, gives it an historicist aspect. It is therefore correspondingly anti-rationalist. For its salient theme appears to be that no one thing stands firm, or rather, if anything does stand firm, it need not. Its constancy is arbitrary and no reflection of the essence of the world The Kantian flavour which marked the Tractatus as a work of critical philosophy is preserved in Wittgenstein’s later work. But it is deprived of its rationalist, ahistorical features. (pp. 166– 167)

From a consideration of change in language-games, Gier (1981) concludes that Wittgenstein has joined an existential phenomenology in Hegel’s programme of an “expanded reason”—a dynamic rationality which is subject to the conditions of history and society (p. 183). Along with Rajan (1967), Gier (1981) maintains that the distinctive feature of the later Wittgenstein is his “temporalization” of logic. Certainly, if one contemplates Wittgenstein’s liberation of grammar from logic and his “temporalization” of logic, then it is not difficult to see the historicist implications for a notion of rationality. Not only do concepts, which define our most fundamental beliefs, have histories, but also so does the “grammar” which govern their relations. A study of Wittgenstein’s Viennese origins and the general continental milieu which constituted his immediate intellectual and cultural background has forced a reassessment of his work (Janik and Toulmin 1973). Increasingly, scholars of Wittgenstein are seeking to understand the significance of his thought by interpreting him in Kantian terms (Mandel 1978; Hintikka 1981) and stressing the similarities between his later philosophy and that of the life-world phenomenologists (Apel 1980; Gier 1981; Weinzweig 1977). An Hegelian interpretation is not inconsistent with this general trend to look more carefully at Wittgenstein’s cultural background and the intellectual influences upon him (see Bartley 1974, p. 47). These similarities have 94 further led some contemporary philosophers to talk in terms of the confluence or mediation between philosophical traditions. Apel (1980), for example, attempts to establish a relationship between the problem of hermeneutic understanding that has dominated German philosophy of social sciences since Schleiermacher and the

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problem of understanding which he takes to be central to Wittgenstein’s enterprise. Moore (1973) seeks to establish the similarity in conceptual content over issues involved in human action between Wittgensteinian ordinary language philosophy and certain brands of continental philosophy (particularly the Marxist-oriented philosophy of Habermas). Still others (Manser 1973; Zimmerman 1978; Fann 1974) have sought to distinguish the “revolutionary” or “progressive” aspect of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy and attempted to establish parallels with Marx. A Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein would seem to provide support for these attempts. Involved in many of these attempts are claims to establish a substantive philosophical paradigm based on the later Wittgenstein which implies a radical difference between the methodologies taken to characterize the natural and human sciences. While accepting the openness of the Wittgensteinian tradition it is, however, necessary to be careful not to overestimate the similarities by paying close attention to the differences. This chapter was written with the intention of providing an historical framework within which to view the claims of analytic philosophers of education about the nature of philosophy and hence the nature of their own specialist field. It was meant to provide both a broad picture—the tradition of philosophy-as-epistemology—and a more narrow picture—the rise of linguistic philosophy—against which to view these claims. In the next chapter I will show that analytic philosophy of education in adopting a particular view of philosophy from analytic philosophy stands in the tradition of philosophy-as-epistemology and as such is open to the same sceptical challenge based on the criterion problem. Further, many of the tensions of analytic philosophy of education can be seen to arise from attempting to practice ordinary language philosophy within an analytic framework. They originate from the attempt by philosophers of education to integrate not only different aspects of two quite distinct and antagonistic phases of the methodological revolution in philosophy, but also elements of two competing conceptions of philosophy: that of Russell on the one hand, and that of Wittgenstein on the other. Thus, although, by and large, philosophers of education have given up the Tractarian and Russellian notion that the structure of reality determines the structure of language, and the accompanying notion that all languages share a common form, they still hold to what amounts to an essentialist and reductive theory of meaning— believing that it is possible to isolate and explicate the essence of meaning of ordinary language concepts by searching for the criteria of their use. Or again, for example, although analytic philosophers of education appeal to Wittgenstein in claiming that philosophy is an activity of clarification, they depart from him, and resist the full implications of his view by insisting in Russellian fashion that philosophy is a cognitive discipline. Against Wittgenstein they hold that philosophers can not only produce analyses which reveal the determinate sense of general concepts and propositions and thereby make known the presuppositions underlying our conceptual schemes, but pace Russell and Austin, they can also criticize, revise and reform them.

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Or once again, although analytic philosophers of education consistently appeal to Wittgenstein to sanction the view that Conceptual Analysis “leaves everything as it is”—that it conveys an unmediated knowledge of concepts and thus remains neutral with regard to substantive philosophical issues—they do not take seriously the associated Wittgensteinian view that philosophical problems are not real problems but arise from the misuse of ordinary language which is in perfectly good logical order as it stands. For Wittgenstein, as we have discovered, there is nothing new to be found in philosophy—there are no philosophical propositions, theories, or explanations— for “everything lies in plain view”, and philosophy likened to different therapies, simply consists in “assembling reminders” to eliminate the puzzles of philosophical problems by obtaining a surview of a segment of our language. By contrast, analytic philosophers of education treat Conceptual Analysis as the primary part of philosophy—a method which is seen both as capable of clarifying and revising our concepts and schema, and as a logically prior and necessary epistemological preliminary to answering other, real, philosophical questions. By reformulating epistemological issues within an essentialist and reductive theory of meaning philosophers of education have tended to espouse and support a conception of philosophy which is more closely allied with a Russellian empiricism and foundationalism, though transposed into ordinary language, than a Wittgensteinian antifoundationalism and anti-empiricism evidenced in the later Wittgenstein’s explicit rejection of nominalism, his semantic holism and acceptance of internal relations. Further, Peters, Hirst and others of the “London School”, contra Wittgenstein and not unlike Russell, use a method of philosophical analysis as a methodological tool to sketch and justify a certain view of knowledge and rationality. They attempt to avoid the traditional dilemma of epistemology—embodying the thrust of scepticism—by holding to a doctrine of philosophical autonomy which derives from the alleged status of philosophy as a second-order, and, therefore, neutral activity of conceptual analysis. Once the doctrine of autonomy is seen for what it is—an epistemological defence based on a series of contestible and suspect distinctions—then it can be seen more clearly that the dilemma based on the criterion problem re-emerges at the linguistic or meta-level, and that the answer proposed by analytic philosophers of education is but a linguistic variant of traditional foundationalism.

Bibliography Albritton, R. (1959). On Wittgenstein’s use of the term ‘criterion’. Journal of Philosophy, 22. Reprinted in G. Pitcher (Ed.), Wittgenstein (1966), London: Macmillan Press, pp. 231–250. Apel, K. O. (1980). Towards a transformation of philosophy (G. Adey & D. Frisby, Trans.). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ayer, A. J. (1971). Russell and moore: The analytic heritage. London: Macmillan Press. Ayers, A. J. (1972). Russell. London: Fontana Books. Ayers, M. (1978). Analytic philosophy and the history of philosophy. In J. Ree, M. Ayers, & A. Westaby (Eds.), Philosophy and its past (pp. 42–66). Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press.

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Pears, O. (1971). Wittgenstein. London: Fontana Books. Pears, D. (1972a). Introduction. In O. Pears (Ed.), Russell’s logical atomism. London: Fontana Books. Pears, D. (Ed.). (1972b). Bertrand Russell: A collection of critical essays. London: Fontana. Popkin, R. H. (1968). The history of scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes. Berkeley: University of California Press. Popkin, R. H. (1980). The high road to Pyrrhonism. R. A. Watson & J. E. Force (Eds.). San Diego: Austin Hill Press. Quine, W. V. O. (1960). Word and object, 1981 ed., Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Rajan, R. S. (1967). Cassirer and Wittgenstein. International Philosophical Quarterly, 7, 591–610. Ree, J. (1978). Philosophy and the history of philosophy. In J. Ree, M. Ayers, & A. Westoby (Eds.), Philosophy and its past (pp. 193–215). Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press. Rorty, R. (1976). Keeping philosophy pure. Yale Review, 22, 336–356. Rorty, R. (1980). Philosophy and the mirror of nature. Oxford: Blackwell. Schwyzer, H. (1973). Thought and reality: The metaphysics of Kant and Wittgenstein. Philosophical Quarterly, 23, 193–206. Shiner, R. A. (1978). Wittgenstein and the foundations of knowledge. Aristotelian Society Proceedings, LXXVIII, 103–124. Smith, J. E. (1969). The reflexive turn, the linguistic turn and the pragmatic outcome. The Monist, 22, 588–605. Taylor, C. (1972). The opening arguments of the phenomenology. In A. Macintyre (Ed.), Hegel. New York: Doubleday. Toulmin, S. (1972). Human understanding (Vol. 1). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Watson, R. A. (1969). Sextus and Wittgenstein. Southern Journal of Philosophy, 7, 229–237. Weinzweig, M. (1977). Phenomenology and ordinary language philosophy. Metaphilosophy, 8, 116–146. Wellman, C. (1962). Wittgenstein’s conception of a criterion. Philosophical Review, 81, 4. Reprinted in H. Morick (Ed.), Wittgenstein and the problem of other minds (pp. 154–169) (1967). New York: McGraw-Hill. Zimmerman, W. (1978). The later Wittgenstein and historical materialism. In Wittgenstein and his impact on contemporary thought: Proceedings of the second international Wittgenstein symposium (pp. 58–60). Vienna: Holder-Pichler-Tempsky.

Part II

Rationality and Philosophy of Education

Chapter 3

The Autonomy of Analytic Philosophy of Education

We are under the illusion that what is peculiar, profound, essential, in our investigation, resides in its trying to grasp the incomparable essence of language. That is, the order existing between the concepts of proposition, work, proof, truth, experience, and so on. This order is a super—order between—so to speak—super-concepts. Whereas, of course, if the words ‘language’, experience, world, have a use, it must be as humble a one as that of the words ‘table’, ‘lamp’, ‘door’. Wittgenstein, L. (1972). Philosophical Investigations (G. E. M. Anscombe, Trans., paragraph 97). Oxford: Blackwell.

(a) Introduction Analytic philosophy of education emerged quite suddenly in the early 1960s following the “revolution in philosophy” begun by Frege, Russell and the early Wittgenstein. It represented a deliberate break from the more traditional philosophy of education as it was then practised in Britain, where it focused on the history of educational ideas, and in the United States, where it centred around various “schools of philosophy” like idealism, realism, pragmatism, progressivism and perennialism (Broudy 1981). In Britain, analytic philosophy of education took the form not as a reaction against neo-Hegelian idealism as did analytic philosophy, but as a reaction against philosophy of education as “a simple description of certain thinker’s ideas on education, philosophy as history so to speak” (Gilroy 1982, p. 76). From the outset then, the new philosophy of education, not unlike its parent discipline in general philosophy, was both unhistorical in its approach and anti-historical in its conception. Although the origins of the analytic approach in philosophy of education date back to C. D. Hardie (1942), and to the pioneer work of D. J. O’Connor (1957) and I. Scheffler (1960), it is with R. S. Peters, P. H. Hirst, and the associated “London school” that the approach came to maturity from both an intellectual and institutional point of view. R. S. Peters took over the Chair of Philosophy of Education from L. A. Reid at the University of London Institute of Education in 1963, and immediately © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. A. Peters, Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9_3

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proceeded to outline the new approach. In his Inaugural Lecture Peters (1964) takes it upon himself to provide “signposts” to the central issues with which the philosophy of education must be concerned by putting forward an analysis of the concept of education. Later, in the Preface to his major work, Ethics and Education (1966a), he claimed that philosophy of education “will only develop as a rigorous field of study if a few philosophers are prepared to plough premature furrows that run more or less in the right direction” (p. 8). The “furrows” and “signposts” that he provides and that have since dominated philosophy of education, are those that originate in a particular conception of philosophy. At the centre of this conception of philosophy lies an approach to epistemology which in analytic philosophy of education takes both an overt and a covert form. The overt form is known well enough; it is Hirst’s “forms of knowledge” thesis which quickly became established within the analytic paradigm and tended to dominate the epistemological outlook. In the next chapter I will examine Hirst’s analytic theory of knowledge, alongside two more recent theories—the sociology-of-knowledge thesis put forward by M. F. D. Young, and the knowledge-as-production thesis held by M. Matthews. The covert form is less easily recognized and is best represented as a commitment to a view of the nature of philosophy and of philosophical method, which, in fact, constitutes a set of substantive theses concerning the status of philosophical knowledge, and the methods we ought to adopt in order to attain it. The primary aim of this chapter is to evaluate the so-called methodological revolution that has taken place in the philosophy of education since the early 1960s by reference to its adoption of a certain guiding view or conception of philosophy, from analytic philosophy. Briefly, the conception of philosophy I am about to examine is one which conceives of philosophy primarily as the second-order activity of conceptual analysis; a logically prior and necessary preliminary to answering other philosophical questions. It is characterized by the search, or a set of absolute and universally valid criteria by reference to which competing beliefs and standards may be rationally assessed. For analytic philosophers such criteria are thought to lie in language: for analytic philosophers of education they are thought to lie in ordinary language, and specifically in the implicit rules that lie behind our usage of words in ordinary language. By making these criteria explicit through the method of conceptual analysis, analytic philosophers of education take themselves to be making explicit the presuppositions and grounds of knowledge of different forms of discourse. The search for such criteria is taken to be “the kernel of philosophical inquiry” (Peters 1966a, p. 16) and that this general description of the main task of philosophy has remained the same can be seen from a recent statement from Hirst (1982). Commenting on the significance of the sixties for philosophy of education, he recollects: there was certainly a strong desire to use analysis so as to reach the most fundamental concepts and beliefs that must in some epistemologically ultimate, or at least universal, sense characterize education. Surely that search was and remains of the essence of philosophy in this as in any other area··· (p. 8)

(a) Introduction

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But on this view philosophy is not restricted to making explicit what is already implicit in our different realms of discourse, or forms of knowledge that have developed for as Peters (1966a) tells us: Presuppositions can be drastically criticized or revised; grounds for belief can be challenged and new ones suggested; conceptual schemes can be shown to be radically inconsistent or inapplicable; new categorizations can be constructed. (p. 16)

The conception with which we are concerned, then, is one that pictures philosophy as a descriptive and critical activity and one that represents philosophy as an autonomous type of inquiry that is not imprisoned within the presuppositions of a particular period. In the first section of this chapter I am concerned to characterize and criticize the autonomy of analytic philosophy of education as resting on a series of suspect distinctions—the analytic-synthetic, the necessary-contingent—distinctions that have been seriously questioned. The next section deals with the method of conceptual analysis and is concerned to show by reference to Peters’ analysis of the concept of education that no adequate answer has been given to the question of what constitutes a successful analysis. Throughout my discussion I am concerned to bring out the intimate connection assumed between questions of meaning and questions of knowledge. Both Peters and Hirst apparently believe that issues concerning knowledge—its acquisition and growth—are to be correctly reformulated within a theory of meaning. This allegedly distinctive feature of philosophy is further revealed not only in the characterization of philosophy and its method, and, therefore, in the account of analytic philosophy of education sketched by Peters, Hirst and others, but also in their account of education, with its strong emphasis on the development of rationality through the acquisition of knowledge.

(b) The Autonomy of Analytic Philosophy of Education Peters maintains in accordance with the conception of analytic philosophy established in the last chapter, that the distinctive feature of philosophical activity is its secondorder nature. This is a claim which he makes early on and adheres to throughout his writings. What distinguishes the philosopher is the type of second order questions which he asks. These are basically the same questions asked by Socrates at the beginning—the questions ‘What do you mean’? and ‘How do you know?’ …To ask such questions is one thing but to answer them is quite another?, or it is only possible to decide between competing beliefs and standards if criteria emerge by reference to which they can be assessed. (1966a, p. 16)

The autonomy of philosophy, thus, comes about by virtue of its second-order nature which grants to philosophy its foundational status vis-a-vis other disciplines and its foundational role in adjudicating on competing beliefs and standards. The claim for the second-order nature of philosophy is repeated by Peters in a variety of contexts. Later, for instance, in conjunction with Hirst, he maintains:

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3 The Autonomy of Analytic Philosophy of Education Philosophy is an activity which is distinguished by its concern with certain types of secondorder questions, with questions of a reflective sort which arise when activities like science, painting pictures, worshipping and making moral judgements are going concerns. (1970, p. 2)

Here the Wittgensteinian notion of philosophy as an activity is introduced. It is an important contribution to the picture of philosophy centring around a method of conceptual analysis, or philosophy so conceived does not advance a body of knowledge but rather being concerned with the clarification and explication of concepts, is “a study of the meanings of the terms in which such knowledge is formed” (Hirst 1963, p. 57). Hirst concurs with Peters in presenting a conception of philosophy which emphasizes a radical separation between it and other disciplines. Where the latter are said to be concerned with describing and explaining the world, which directly leads to knowledge of the world, philosophy is concerned with how such knowledge is possible, and the form in which it is expressed, If the sciences and the humanities are said to be first order subjects because they seek to describe and explain the world, philosophy can be said to be a second-order subject because it seeks to describe and explain the way in which first order subjects do their job. In this double-decker system, lower deck activities are concerned with understanding the world, upper deck with understanding what goes on on the lower deck. (Hirst 1963, p. 57)

Implicit in this conception of philosophy is not only its foundational epistemological role regarding the other disciplines, where because of its second-order nature it is able to adjudicate on claims to knowledge, but also the underlying idea that the primary concern of philosophy is to provide a set of ahistorical and universally valid standards of rationality. In a more recent publication Hirst (1974) spells out more clearly the second-order nature of philosophy. He maintains that philosophy “is above all concerned with the clarification of concepts and propositions through which our experience and activities are intelligible”; it is therefore a “second-order area of knowledge, concerned above all with the necessary features of our primary forms of understanding and awareness in the sciences, in morals, in history and the like” (1974, pp. 1–2). What clearly emerges here is the reason why philosophy is ascribed a second-order nature: it is not concerned with the content, that is the specific items of knowledge established by first-order disciplines but rather only with the form or medium in which such knowledge is expressed. The implication is established that second-order knowledge of concepts is more fundamental than first-order knowledge of the world, and that philosophy has privileged access to conceptions of reality which are to be gained by way of a neutral analysis of the language in which such conceptions are expressed. So it is assumed, on the one hand, that a bare unmediated knowledge of reality is impossible—knowledge is always mediated by concepts—yet on the other it is assumed that it is entirely possible to gain an unmediated knowledge of concepts, or a perspicuous view of the way language functions. What often goes unstated in all of this is the privileged epistemic role the philosopher acquires by virtue of the allegedly second-order nature of his discipline. The general assumption is that such second-order status accords philosophy, and those that practice it, an autonomy so that the philosopher is able to arbitrate on competing standards and beliefs, on what

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counts as knowledge. Because he is removed from first-order issues the philosopher can offer neutral clarifications and explications of concepts the truth of which do not depend on substantive philosophical theses, and which remain unaffected by empirical conditions. Language—and in particular the criteria governing the use of words which are construed as logical principles—is conceived essentially as a static medium, rather than one that is dynamic and open to change. The idea of the autonomy of philosophers and the consequences that are thought to follow are expressed in a number of different ways: in the metaphors philosophers of education employ to describe their role; in statements which straightforwardly maintain that it is not the role of the philosopher to make prescriptive or normative judgements; in claims to the effect that philosophy is an activity which is theoryfree, and not in any strict sense advancing a body of knowledge; and in claims which emphasize the role of philosophy in providing conceptual analyses which, being no more than neutral descriptions, clarifications and explications, do not change the world in any way. Peters (1966a), having denied that philosophers see their role as offering “high-level directives for education or for life”, suggests that philosophers now cast themselves in the more mundane Lockean role of “under-labourers in the garden of knowledge”. The disciplined demarcation of concepts, the patient explication of the grounds of knowledge and of the presuppositions of different forms of discourse, have become their stock-in-trade… The image of the spectator is an appropriate one; for just as a spectator… detaches himself from the activities of which he is a spectator in order to watch and comment on them, so does a philosopher detachedly ponder and probe into activities and forms of discourse in which he and others engage. (p. 15)

One of the main consequences, then, of the second-order nature of philosophy is that the philosopher becomes removed from practical and everyday concerns: “a detached and clear-sighted view of the shape of issues and institutions is all that analysis provides… It cannot of itself determine the lines of practical policy” (ibid., p. 45). Elsewhere, Peters (1970) expresses the same point by alluding to Wittgenstein’s conception of philosophy, to paraphrase Wittgenstein, “conceptual analysis leaves everything as it is…” (p. 19). The second-order activity of conceptual analysis, it seems, does not contribute directly to the solution of practical and political questions but it can pose them in a more precise form. There is widespread agreement on this point among philosophers of education of varying persuasion. O’Connor (1957) refers to philosophy as “an activity of criticism or clarification” which can be “exercised on any subject matter at all”; for him philosophy is “the effort to criticize and to clarify the foundation of our beliefs” (p. 4). Langford (1968) characterizes philosophy as “the method of logical analysis of language which has “no subject matter” and does not provide us with knowledge of the world (p. 21). Hirst (1974) concurs with Peters: “philosophical clarification will not of itself answer our practical problems, even if it cannot but help in promoting more rational solutions of them” (p. 2). Beck (1974) echoes the general position, and emphasizes that philosophy as conceptual analysis “is not a theoretical position with implications for education”

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(p. 12). Magee (1971) also stresses that analysis is not a doctrine about the world, “nor much of a doctrine about philosophical method” (p. 21). As is evidenced here, there is widespread agreement among philosophers of education over the nature of philosophy as an analytic meta-enterprise centring around a method. As such it can be seen that there is more of a concern with analysis and the fruits of analysis than with any attempt to resolve basic questions involving substantive issues. In a sense this preoccupation with reflective analysis, and its techniques, represents a continuation of the tradition stressing the primacy of critical philosophy. Underlying the belief in the primacy of the analytic meta-enterprise is the assumption, made explicit in the above examples, that removal to the second-order level, represented by the shift from talk of objects to talk of words, somehow defines a neutral standpoint which will ensure rational agreement among philosophers. This retreat to the second-order level is thought on the one hand to sanction non-differential interpretations of the meaning of concepts and expressions—and, therefore, to hold out greater prospect for rational agreement among philosophers—while to prohibit, on the other, the making of pronouncements or claims concerning disputes at the first-order level. Here, as with the reflexive turn that established analytic philosophy, a critical standpoint is established which is considered to be neutral, autonomous and capable of attaining certainty but there is no thought that such a standpoint is, or should be, self-reflexive. Accompanying claims for the status of the second-order nature of philosophy are those which emphasize the logical priority of conceptual analysis. Hirst and Peters (1970) illustrate this idea clearly. The point is to see through the words to get a better grasp of the similarities and differences that it is possible to pick out. And these are important in the context of other questions which we cannot answer without such preliminary analysis …conceptual analysis …is a necessary preliminary to answering some other philosophical questions. (p. 8)

The notion that philosophical discussion is to be preceded by some form of preliminary analysis helps to establish the epistemic authority of the philosopher, for any ensuing discussion that might follow is dependent upon the prior elucidation of the concept(s) involved. The general idea is that we must gain an understanding of the general concept before we can examine any of the specific forms it takes. Thus an understanding of the concept of education is seen to be a prerequisite for embarking upon any attempt to answer other philosophical questions about education: “it would be precipitate to plunge into fundamental ethical issues involved in education without a precise notion of what education is and of the types of value-judgement that it exemplifies” (Peters 1966a, p. 19). The same argument is implicit with other concepts: educational concepts such as “teaching”, “learning”, “indoctrination”; and more general concepts that have educational relevance such as “knowledge” and “freedom”. The logical priority of conceptual analysis of the need for preliminary analysis in order first to clarify the notions we use before we begin to argue for or attempt to justify a point of view, accords the philosopher a special foundational role in arbitrating on competing beliefs and standards. By virtue of conceptual insights into what education or knowledge

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is, and what in general can count as education or knowledge, the analyst is able to declare that particular practices do not count as educational, for such claims or practices do not fulfil or satisfy the conditions necessary to count as genuine claims or practices. To investigate these conditions concerning truth, meaning and justification is to elucidate the concept and this is considered the pre-eminent right and major task of the philosopher. What implications does this conception have for the philosophy of education? We can begin by recapitulating on the essential ingredients involved in the conception of philosophy described above, and by directly applying those “findings” to philosophy of education. What emerges, then, first and foremost, is the distinctive second-order status of philosophy of education which enables the philosopher of education to adjudicate on competing educational beliefs and standards and to adopt a spectatorial role in discovering or unmasking presuppositions that govern the practice of education. By virtue of his/her privileged status the philosopher of education, albeit implicitly or indirectly, is able to define what counts as educational reality and what is or is not “rational” in education. McClellan (1976) in a particularly choice paragraph offers confirmation of this interpretation. He defines philosophy of education as “an inquiry into the distinctive form human reason takes in the practice of education…”. “In its revelatory aspects, philosophy of education is an attempt to represent the general features of human reason discernible in that practice. In its critical aspects it tries to discover whether the rules and presuppositions which define the practice of education at a given historical moment are authentic versions or corrupt perversions of human reason” (p. 4). Implied in this quotation is the epistemic privilege of the philosopher of education able to escape the governing presuppositions of his age and to adjudicate or arbitrate among competing educational beliefs and standards. Characterized in this way, philosophy of education stands in the grand tradition of philosophy proper, concerned to provide a set of absolute and universally valid standards for rational judgement and practice in education. McClellan’s statement recalls Peters’ remark, referred to earlier, that the search for criteria by which to decide between competing beliefs and standards, is the kernel of philosophical inquiry. Such a conception of philosophy of education stands in direct opposition to the suggestion that it is as much a prisoner of its age, as much influenced by the presuppositions underlying the intellectual tradition to which it belongs, as are the first-order disciplines that it seeks to clarify and preside over. To state this opposition is to state an explicit logical separation of philosophy of education, concerned with mapping the “logical geography” of concepts and pursuing conceptual truths, from those empirical first-order disciplines, such as educational psychology, sociology and biology, which contribute to educational theory. In other words, fundamental to this view of philosophy of education is the distinction between scheme and content, between analytic and synthetic truths, and the corresponding distinction between a priori and empirical knowledge. Further, partly on the basis of these distinctions, philosophy of education is to be clearly distinguished from the history of educational ideas, for as Peters (1966b) acknowledges in his criticism of courses in the history of educational ideas, such courses are based on “work in the general theory of education which includes a mass of moralizing, and empirical

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generalizations as well as strictly philosophical inquiries” (p. 65). Here it is important to realize that Peters’ rejection of an historical philosophy of education proceeds from his view concerning the nature of philosophy, and on the assumed logical separation of philosophy from first-order disciplines which are purported to describe the world. It seems on this basis that Peters would equally be committed to a distinction between philosophy and the history of philosophical thoughts. It is a point of view that is important and useful to pursue given my historical approach. Although Peters favours what Haack (1976) has referred to as “a non-historical and even anti-historical philosophy of education” (p. 164) and specifically suggests that courses on the history of educational thought should “be supplementary to and not a substitute for the philosophy of education” (Peters 1966b, p. 65), the reasons he puts forward for such a view do not, in themselves, stand up to scrutiny, first, as previously mentioned Peters simply assumes that there is a tenable logical distinction between the status of philosophy of education and that of the history of educational ideas. It seems that because such courses in history are based on works containing prescriptive and empirical propositions along with philosophical ones, they are debarred from “true” philosophical treatment. Consider the following passage. Plato’s views on education, for instance, include all sorts of empirical generalizations about learning and child development, and it is usually these aspects of his thought rather than his theory of ideas, his conception of dialectic, and his analysis of knowledge which are singled out for attention. Similarly no one who knows any philosophy would rate Rousseau’s Emile very highly as a piece of philosophical analysis or argument. But it is assuredly a classic in the history of educational ideas. (ibid., p. 65)

This, of course, does not add up to a significant argument, for, first, the distinction on which Peters rests his comments is itself in need of justification, as is the conception of philosophy he embraces from whence the distinction originates. Second, there is nothing in the history of educational ideas that prohibits a philosophical treatment even given the idea of philosophy as a meta-activity. That this is the case should appear evident in light of the earlier claims of analytic philosophers of education that philosophy is a method and as such can be exercised on any subject matter at all. Further, given the contemporary influence of many traditional philosophies of education, such as Dewey’s (1916) on both the thinking of educators and existing school systems, it would appear that the analytic philosopher of education has an important and useful job to do in attempting to disentangle the empirical-ethical-philosophical mix of such undifferentiated thought, though his/her role is not necessarily to be limited entirely to this. Haack (1976) elaborates this position further. If, as Peters suggests, a philosopher makes his theory of education depend crucially on his more general philosophical theories or if, more specifically his educational theories follow as a fairly direct consequence of some more general philosophical views, then we may be able to test the adequacy of the latter by the adequacy of the consequences for educational theory and practice. If the consequences for educational theory and practice are unworkable, morally unacceptable or simply false, then this may be taken as pointing to inadequacy in the general philosophical theories of which they are consequences. (p. 164)

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What is more, as Peters himself admits above, there is much of direct philosophical interest, in say, Plato’s thinking which is deserving of attention. The fact that the so-called non-philosophical aspects of Plato’s thinking have been singled out in the past is not a good reason for insisting on a strict and mutually exclusive separation of subjects. The second reason Peters (1966b) advances as a defect of the history of ideas approach is that “the ideas of great thinkers are extracted from the text and applied to modern conditions without giving students any training in the form of thought which is necessary for the criticism of these ideas” (p. 65). This is surely a criticism of the way such courses have been taught rather than an argument against an historical philosophy of education per se, or against an historical component in philosophy of education courses. Courses in the history of educational ideas are not incompatible with the criticism of those ideas. In fact, in many philosophy departments, philosophy is taught in just this way. But Peters is adamant in his assessment of the limited role history of educational ideas has for philosophy of education. Even historically speaking such an enterprise has its limitations; for most lecturers, who really understand something of the conditions under which Plato wrote his Republic, feel pretty uneasy about discussions which proceed under the aegis of Plato To-Day. But, philosophically speaking, such discussions are usually nugatory. The lecturers are usually historians by training and neither they nor their students have the training to discuss with much rigour the fundamental issues in ethics and epistemology which thinkers of the past have raised. The question is whether, from the point of view of philosophy of education, the best starting point for the discussion of such issues is in relation to works of the past or contemporary educational issues. (1966b, pp. 65–6)

Peters, here, advances no philosophical reason to support his view. Clearly the issue of the training of lecturers and students does not provide a reason to object either to the existence and running of such courses in principle, nor to an historical philosophy of education. Haack (1976) construes Peters’ objection as “we should not assume a priori that the work of the historic authors can be applied uncritically and in direct, fashion to current educational problems and theories”, and goes on to argue the point that “this is not to suggest that courses on the philosophy of education should not be based on the work of the ‘great educators’, but only that they should not be based on them in a certain way. He illustrates the relevance of the “great educators” by claiming “it is necessary to examine the history of educational theory and practice if we wish to gauge the extent to which education has served a conformist, or reformist, or, indeed a revolutionary function”, and ends by remarking, “a study of the past can give us some inkling as to what is possible now” (pp. 165–166). Haack’s remark is salutary and has relevance for the understanding of analytic philosophy of education itself, for as I have previously indicated, it can be plausibly argued that a full understanding of analytic philosophy of education, in turn, is at least partly dependent upon understanding a view of philosophy inherited, from analytic philosophy; a view, what is more, that stands in the tradition of critical philosophy, and whose origins date back even further. In other words, contemporary analytic philosophy of education stands in a rich philosophical tradition; one that has helped to influence and shape its present status and role, and one with which

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it shares certain features. This is a matter that is acknowledged by Peters with his occasional references to and sketches of the “revolution in philosophy”, for instance, at one point he writes: … the main characteristic of the ‘revolution in philosophy’ has been an increasing awareness of what philosophy is. It is not that philosophers have suddenly begun to do something startlingly different from what was done in former times by Plato, Aristotle, Hume and Kant; rather they have become more increasingly aware of what is distinctive of philosophical inquiries and more cautious of making pronouncements on matters which are not strictly philosophical in character. Nonetheless there is a sense in which they are still spectators of all time and all existence, in that they can have something to say, qua philosophers, about almost any form of human activity. (1966b, p. 5)

It is surprising, therefore, to encounter such a staunch anti-historical stance in Peters’ work and those of his colleagues, when clearly there are good grounds, implicit in Peters’ own philosophy for holding that an appreciation of history of philosophy, and in particularly of analytic philosophy, would advance an understanding of analytic philosophy of education. Haack’s paper is designed to show that the contemporary perspective is too narrow, and he advocates a return to a more traditional view of philosophy of education, but there are also some who would argue that analytic philosophy of education and the history of educational thought may not be strictly incompatible—a view I would support given certain changes to the conception of philosophy embraced by analytic philosophers of education. Soltis (1968), for example, countenancing the now familiar claim that contemporary philosophers reject the traditional conception of philosophy as interpreting the universe on a grand scale, and accept a much narrower analytic conception, points out that there is nothing in the analytic approach which necessarily rules out other types of philosophizing, Soltis argues that the “search for a total philosophical context and understanding of human life” cannot be rejected out of hand; that “its potential to provide perspective, meaning and inspiration for those who educate cannot be denied” (pp. 81–82). Soltis then begins to outline some suggestions of ways that the two approaches may work in tandem. He suggests, for instance, that the “techniques of analysis may be used to clarify and make more precise and intelligible the broad and comprehensive concepts of philosophical systems”, and that in doing so “we might find that a certain systematic ambiguity is more desirable than an artificial precision” (p. 32). In using the analogies of the microscope for the use of analysis, and the telescope for philosophical world view building he ends by suggesting that: “these two approaches are not necessarily antithetical and can complement each other in the unending philosophical attempt to better conceptualize and understand the complex process of education, from every available vantage point” (p. 83). A convenient marriage of the two approaches, however, would entail changes in the conception of philosophy of education as an ahistorical and anti-historical, secondorder activity of conceptual analysis. In order for the world view conception to be given a complementary role it seems necessary to recognize that language as the medium of knowledge is not a static thing comprised of a number of primary and discrete language-games, but that it is essentially dynamic and evolving, and just as

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much subject and open to change as any social or cultural institution. The recognition that a language and the concepts that comprise it have a history, I believe, would add an empirical dimension to philosophy and the philosophy of education that would allow appeals to past usage, and the historical evolution of concepts which is already implicit in much of what passes for conceptual analysis, further, it would provide a basis for considering how certain concepts acquired a negative or positive value in the course of their history and so would truly emphasize the relevance and importance of the socio-cultural context. While an historical philosophy of education would necessarily limit the role and epistemic privilege of the philosopher, it would not curtail the possibility of argument. I take up these issues more fully in the following section on conceptual analysis, and in the last chapter where I argue for an historicist conception of knowledge and rationality. As well as dismissing the prospect of an historical philosophy of education or one with an historical component, Peters (1966b) in the same work disassociates analytic philosophy of education from the sorts of prescriptive statement that typifies a view he calls “principles of education”. It is not the role of the philosopher of education, he maintains, to make pronouncements on matters of value. Peters’ reasoning is that such principles are logical hybrids of “complex empirical generalizations and of value judgements” so that their validity will rest on “matters about which the philosopher is not an authority qua philosopher”. While the philosopher as spectator can sort out the different strands which comprise such a principle “he is not in a position, qua philosopher, to pronounce on the truth of such principles” (pp. 63–64). Again, it is important to realize that the idea that it is not the role of the philosopher to make claims about substantive issues, follows from the general picture of philosophy outlined above. Philosophers are to remain normatively neutral. It is difficult to sort out Peters’ argument for this prohibition but he seems to invoke another timehonoured distinction fundamental to the analytic enterprise—between fact and value. In Ethics and Education (1966a) Peters makes explicit recourse to the distinction by appealing to the naturalistic fallacy (pp. 94–100). In fact, the distinction is the background against which Peters wishes to pursue the question “what is education?” for it is an allegedly value-neutral conceptual investigation, entirely independent from the question “what ought we to do?” facts and values are to be kept apart. In keeping with the general conception of philosophy presented above, the fundamental gambit of philosophy of education—from whence its second-order nature derives—is the move to talk of educational concepts and discourse, represented in analytic philosophy generally as the “linguistic turn”. Thus, philosophers of education are concerned primarily with the language of education and the concepts specific to it rather than with what happens directly or with what ought to happen at the level of practice in education on the understanding that such talk of concepts will enable rational agreement among educational philosophers at the meta-level through a normatively neutral and theory-free method of analysis. Analytic philosophy of education, then, begins with “the analysis of concepts specific to education—such as ‘education’, ‘teaching’, ‘training’, and ‘university’ and ‘school’ (Peters 1966a, p. 18)”. Conceptual analysis in the philosophy of education is regarded as a logically prior activity to answering other sorts of philosophical questions—a sort of

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epistemological preparation and necessary propaedeutic. Philosophers of education are considered to be in a position by virtue of the method of conceptual analysis to dismiss particular accounts of education or of teaching etc., or particular educational claims on the grounds that they do not fulfil the requisite necessary conditions which are allegedly built into the concepts that are the terms of such accounts and claims. Thus, Peters (1966b), for instance, asks in relation to the task aspect of “education”, “…what processes can be ruled out on conceptual grounds?” and concludes that conditioning can be excluded for “it is…inappropriate to regard it as a task on the part of the learner. It is not a process of learning in any strict sense” (p. 71). Later, in the same article, he writes, “Education is of the whole man might well be a conceptual truth in the sense that ‘educated’ rules out merely specialist training” (p. 74). Analysis may clarify the terms of, and thus narrow the focus of subsequent philosophical discussion in education but it cannot determine a particular answer. “The analysis of ‘aims of education’ would not, of course, settle the substantive issue; for moral decisions can never be extracted, from conceptual analysis. But it does at least help to spotlight the points at which decisions have to be taken” (Peters 1973, p. 17). It is worth noting here that in their espousals on the nature of philosophy, and in their practice, analytic philosophers of education do not strictly limit the role of the philosopher to conceptual analysis, even though they stress its logical primacy and priority in any investigation. Questions of justification are also deemed to fall within the philosopher’s realm. In this regard it is interesting to see how Peters (1966a) divides up the philosophy of education according to those established branches of philosophy proper. Thus, having dealt with the analysis of educational concepts under the heading of Philosophy of Mind, he goes on to mention ethics and epistemology. The latter encompasses questions about the curriculum, more general problems about “knowledge” itself, and the respective status of philosophy, philosophy of education and educational theory. The former includes questions to do both with the matter and manner of what is passed on in the name of education. Both these branches are concerned with questions of justification, and as such they are legitimate areas of inquiry for philosophers of education. This may seem to fly in the face of earlier espousals that emphasize that it is not the role of the philosopher of education to make claims involving substantive issues, or surely if an educational philosopher produces a series of arguments in ethics or epistemology, to justify a set of principles over others, he has become embroiled in substantive issues? At the level of conceptual analysis, given neutrality claims, it is, perhaps, understandable that it is not the role of the philosopher of education to attempt to settle substantive issues. Here, such claims for the role of the philosopher of education seem to proceed logically, from what is taken to be the nature of his/her investigation. No amount of conceptual clarification, or securing of conceptual truths will ever produce an educational principle or settle, once and, or all, a substantive issue, we have been told. It is difficult to know, however, once the philosopher of education enters the realms of justification and argument, how such prohibitions concerning his/her role are to be substantiated. Peters (1973) nevertheless maintains that, “…it is possible to produce arguments to show both why some sorts of pursuits are more worthwhile than others and why some principles

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rather than others are justifiable in dealing with children …to produce some kind of ethical foundations for education” (p. 29). At the same time he holds to such prohibitive statements concerning the role of the philosopher of education. Peters is somewhat inconsistent here. Compare his earlier comment: …the formulation, discussion, and passing on of such principles cannot be the peculiar function of the philosopher of education” (1966b, p. 64) with the following: “what I think a philosopher cannot do…is to pronounce on the relative weights to be attached to such principles. (1973, p. 29)

Surely in order to justify a principle or set of principles over others one must be able to formulate them, and what is a justification if not an attempt to arrive at the “truth” of a set of issues? Although Peters may be equivocal in the statement of exactly to what extent the philosopher of education can get involved in substantive issues, even in his most relaxed statements he wishes to limit the role of the philosopher in some way. The justification of principles is one thing, but he tells us no amount of justification, will ever determine the application of principles in concrete circumstances (1973, p. 29). Peters seems to be emphasizing a distinction between theory and practice; between the content of justification on the one hand and that of practice on the other. Nevertheless, there seems to be something extremely odd, prima facie, in maintaining that the philosophy of education is of great importance and has a contribution to make to educational theory, and yet also maintaining that it has no direct relationship to the decisions which are taken in the practice of education. At any event both Peters (1966a) in the moral sphere and Hirst (1974) in the area of knowledge and the curriculum buttress their accounts of education through the use of transcendental arguments, the legitimacy of which rests on the notion of philosophy as a second-order activity of conceptual analysis. Ultimately the transcendental arguments employed by Peters to justify education, and by Hirst to justify a liberal education, are grounded in a view of education arrived at by conceptual analysis which gives a central role to the pursuit of knowledge and truth. In both cases the sceptical regress of justification is thought to be halted by showing that the very posing of the justificatory question presupposes a commitment to those activities already implicit in education. Conceptual analysis, as a neutral method, is necessary therefore in the first place to demonstrate that these activities such as the pursuit of truth and knowledge are implicit in education. If conceptual analysis as a neutral method is discredited then it would seem that the possibility of a transcendental justification of education is also threatened. We have arrived at a conception of the philosophy of education then which emphasizes certain allegedly distinguishing features of it as a second-order, ahistorical, spectatorial and foundational activity of conceptual analysis and justification in accordance with the more general picture of philosophy outlined. This conception implies a three-tier structure within education itself so that on the first level we have concrete educational activities and practices—the everyday practices in educational institutions that take place in the name of education. At the second level we have

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educational theory which contributes to the understanding and explanation of educational activities and practices and thereby attempts to improve them. Finally, at the third level we have the philosophy of education itself, conceived of as a necessary preliminary to theory—a discipline or field of inquiry which by virtue of its privileged status can adjudicate on knowledge-claims in educational theory and preside over the various disciplines which comprise it. In the next section I am concerned to look more closely at the method of conceptual analysis, to examine its credentials, and criticize the claims made of the nature of philosophy of education on its behalf.

(c) The Method of Conceptual Analysis and the Importance of Context When we turn to the question of what it is that constitutes an analysis in the philosophy of education we find that there is surprisingly little written on the subject and what has been written certainly does not amount to a systematic orthodoxy on method. This may appear rather curious given earlier comments to the effect that philosophy of education is little more than a method of analysis of the language of education. Yet even Peters exhibits a methodological pluralism—initially accepting a “family resemblance” theory of meaning (1958, 1959), later, an essentialist and anti-Wittgensteinian account (1963), which makes it difficult to plot the main features of a methodological orthodoxy characteristic of the “London school”. There are two main reasons for this situation. The first, I would venture, relates to the status of philosophy of education; it has been said that philosophy of education is more a branch of philosophy which draws on and applies the method and techniques of linguistic philosophy in the field of education rather than a distinct discipline in its own right (Peters 1966b, p. 2). The upshot of this is that philosophy of education is dependent upon methodological developments in philosophy itself, and as I have attempted to demonstrate above, it cannot, therefore, be adequately considered in isolation—separate from its guiding conception of philosophy and its method, nor from the context of the tradition of analytic philosophy whereby it gained its impetus. The second reason why there has been little written on what constitutes a conceptual analysis by analytic philosophers of education is simply because it is a notoriously difficult question that has occasioned no real agreement among philosophers in general. Even within analytic philosophy few have ventured to say what it is that constitutes a successful analysis. My intention in this section is to provide a brief account of the method of conceptual analysis by reference to the espousals of analytic philosophers of education and to examine these espousals in the light of criticisms that have been raised against the method both in philosophy and in philosophy of education. Before beginning this task, I wish to qualify my position in some important ways. First, philosophers of education, by and large, practice a brand of analysis referred to as ordinary language philosophy, and although there is no explicit doctrine which one may categorize under this head, it is clear that those who practice it share

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certain, often unstated but nevertheless, common philosophical commitments which bear a close resemblance to the conception of philosophy described above. Second, the criticisms that I raise and recount are not to be construed as an all-out attack or sweeping criticism of ordinary language analysis, for I have no quarrel with the more modest claims of ordinary language philosophers and recognize the important contributions made to our understanding of language over the years by this brand of philosophy. My quarrel with ordinary language philosophy is only insofar as it is used by philosophers of education to perpetuate the idea of philosophy as a theoryfree activity able, by virtue of its second-order status, to offer analyses which are allegedly both neutral and immune to revision. The activity of conceptual analysis is variously described as explicating, clarifying, describing and elucidating the meanings of concepts, propositions and conceptual schema. The fundamental move invoked by philosophers of education to characterize these descriptions of what they do is that of appealing to the use of ordinary language, and of pointing to what we would ordinarily say, in order to justify a proposed analysis. The alleged neutrality of ordinary language analysis gains its force from the focus on ordinary language as it stands from the emphasis on the possibility of “pure” description and from the status of ordinary language philosophy as a second-order, theory-free, activity. The appeal to ordinary language is based on the presupposition that ordinary language, as it stands, is ideal in the sense that it, plus scientific discourse, is adequate for the purposes of description and explanation. To the extent that philosophers are concerned with ordinary language concepts as they appear in the language they are able to point to a subject matter which exists independently of them, and, therefore, distanced from an “objective” analysis. The view that natural or ordinary language embodies important distinctions and that it is in perfectly good logical order as it stands—that philosophical problems or puzzles arise only when philosophers ignore the ordinary ways in which words are used— is a view that originated with the later Wittgenstein. It is one to which Hirst and Peters (1970) generally subscribe although with important modifications. Although they agree that ordinary language “is a record of connections and distinctions that men with predominantly practical purposes have found it important to make”, and, therefore is a “valuable guide” in the method of analysis, they issue the warning that ordinary language’ should never be treated as a repository of unquestionable wisdom”, (p. 8). In other words, Hirst and Peters reject the Wittgensteinian tenet that ordinary language is in good logical order as it stands. Rather, they want to talk of the possibility of “reforming” and “revising”, ordinary language where appropriate and as such can be seen to be following the “Oxford model” of analysis exemplified, though in different ways, by Ryle and Austin.1 Conceptual analysis, then, will explicate or clarify the concepts of ordinary language, but whether we should accept such concepts as the basis of argument or theory, it seems, is another question requiring justification and argument. In view 1 On the differences between the Oxford and Cambridge movements in ordinary language philosophy

see Passmore (1968, chapter 18). For a discussion of the influence of the Oxford movement on R. S. Peters, an Oxford-trained philosopher, see Stenhouse (1979, especially chapters 3 and 4).

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of this Peters and Hirst would apparently deny that the problems in philosophy of education arise solely from conceptual confusion, and that they are to be dissolved in terms of conceptual analysis. For them, as for other philosophers of education, conceptual analysis is seen as a necessary preliminary to other philosophical questions concerning the justification of educational theory and practice. An additional problem to that of what constitutes a successful analysis is therefore generated, for there are now no grounds, carte blanche, to sanction an analysis by the appeal to ordinary language. Any concept or set of concepts in ordinary language may be open to reform or revision. All conceptual analysis can do, it seems, is to clarify or explicate the meaning of concepts as they appear in the language. How, then, are we to know when a concept or set of concepts is in need of reforming or revision? On what basis are we to prefer an extraordinary linguistic recommendation or stipulation over the meaning of a concept that appears in ordinary language? Hirst and Peters do not address themselves to these questions. They do, however, indicate what we do in philosophy when we analyse a concept. “As the concept in question is usually one the possession of which goes with the ability to use words appropriately, what we do is to examine the use of words in order to see what principle or principles govern their use. If we can make these explicit we have uncovered the concept” (1970, p. 4). The principle(s) governing the use of a word is considered to be made explicit once “another word can be found which picks out a characteristic which is a logically necessary condition for the applicability of the original word” (ibid., p. 5). Thus, the attempt to make explicit the principles or rules behind our usage of words, is the attempt to identify logically necessary conditions and to distinguish these from other sorts of conditions that may be present. At this point, as with other attempts to indicate what it is we do when we analyse a concept, Wittgensteinian notions concerning “family resemblances”, the variety of language use, and the importance of considering context, are invoked. Such notions taken seriously, it might be thought, would threaten the prospect of ever finding a discrete set of logically necessary conditions for the use of a word, and cast considerable doubt on the very nature of such an enterprise, but Peters and Hirst seem to consistently reject the full implications of Wittgenstein’s theory of meaning. To be sure Peters distinguishes between the provision of logically necessary and sufficient conditions which will produce strong definitions, and the provision of logically necessary conditions which will produce weak definitions. Where the former—what are generally termed analytic statements—do not frequently occur in natural or ordinary as opposed to an artificially constructed, ideal, language, the latter, do occur regularly in ordinary language and, according to the Peters-Hirst method of analysis it is the task of the philosopher to identify or pick out these necessary conditions. Peters and Hirst convey by their adherence to such a method that the educational philosopher can produce logical truths about an educational reality by analysing language. A clear example of how this method of analysis results in the securing of an alleged logical truth is given in Peters’ early analysis of the concept “education” where he claims, at one point, that it would be “a logical contradiction to say that a man had been educated but that he had in no way changed for the better” (1966a, p. 25). The method of analysis, therefore, becomes a methodological device which allows the

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philosopher of education to legislate on matters of meaning and knowledge without the need or responsibility of defending or attempting to justify the epistemological status of the method. Further, not only is the method considered to be self-justifying, or not standing in need of justification but it also establishes an epistemic authority for the philosopher of education which enables him/her to arrive at logical truths that preclude, a priori, alternative analyses and the relevance of empirical findings. Thus, the method of conceptual analysis is considered to provide an analysis of the formal features of a concept which is free from the analyst’ s own theoretical and normative stance, from the content a concept may be used to convey,2 and from the series of extra-linguistic contexts—social, political and economic—that help to determine its meaning. It is the method which establishes an ahistoricism: the history of a concept does not contribute to the determination of its meaning. That a concept has a history is implicitly denied. Even if it was possible for an educational philosopher, given the analytic creed, to admit that concepts do have histories of their own, the relevance of such histories to an analysis would have to be explicitly denied on pain of contradicting an important methodological tenet. for, on the method so described, the relevance of any contingent states of affairs including the historical development of a concept, is automatically and necessarily excluded. Although it might be conceded under this conception of method that concepts and the meaning of concepts may change over time, the principles governing their use and determining their meaning possessing the status of logical truths, are apparently fixed once and for all, and, accordingly, invariant over time. Two important implications follow if this interpretation is correct. First, if it is granted that although the principles or rules remain fixed the meanings of concepts can and do change over time.3 And if this is accepted as an operating assumption in applying the method, then surely we are owed a theoretical explanation of this assumption? No such explanation is forthcoming from Peters or Hirst, or indeed from any analytic philosopher of education. Second, in view of the lack of a theoretical explanation there are no grounds to make the assumption that such principles do not change or alter over time. To the contrary, there are good grounds pace Quine (supported by Wittgenstein’s doubts over “analyticity” in the Investigations and his analysis of the status of “framework acts” in On Certainty), for assuming that even analytic statements are not immune to revision or change. The distinction between the analytic and the synthetic, essential to the analytic enterprise has been under constant attack ever since Quine began to seriously question the notion of analyticity in the fifties. Such a distinction is clearly essential to analytic philosophy, or it is only on the basis of this distinction that it is possible to defend the second-order status of philosophy as a separate and formal field of inquiry. It is a curious act, then, given both Wittgenstein’s and Quine’s doubts concerning the notion of analyticity, Wittgenstein’s rejection of a single criterion of meaningfulness and his 2 See

Peters (1967, p. 27). “My analysis [of ‘education’] is …content-free …I take the concept of ‘education: to be almost as unspecific in terms of content as something like ‘good’ or ‘worthwhile’, with the notion of ‘transmission of’ or of ‘initiation into’ prefixed to it”. 3 I presume that analytic philosophers of education would want to hold something like this position in claiming to be able to reform or revise ordinary language concepts.

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emphasis on the variety in the use of language, that ordinary language philosophers in education, who claim to take their inspiration from Wittgenstein and appeal to his work at crucial points, should see it to reintroduce the notion of analyticity in some form to sanction their conceptual findings. Traditionally, analytic statements expressing necessary truths knowable a priori are to be differentiated from synthetic statements by virtue of the act that whereas the latter are about the world, and thus testable by appeal to experience, the former are linguistic in character and neither about the world nor testable by reference to non-linguistic, acts about the world. Although it may be true that analytic statements expressing necessary truths cannot simply be generalizations from experience, this gives no absolute warrant, or assuming that they are in no way drawn from experience or that they can make no appeal to experience. Quine’s (1961) now classic “Two Dogmas of Empiricism” casts serious doubt on the possibility of giving a clear and distinct formulation to the content of the notion of analyticity, apart from an appeal to some context of inquiry embodying a specific purpose. His attack on the orthodox empiricist distinction between the analytic and the synthetic leads him to claim that there is no absolute disjunction between the actual and the linguistic components in knowledge, and eventually to dismiss the related distinction between philosophy and the traditionally regarded first-order disciplines.4 There is, in Quine’s view, no neat and absolute technical device valid at all times and in all circumstances, which will enable us to clearly separate the linguistic component in knowledge from that of experience. Any statement can be held true come what may, if we make drastic enough adjustments elsewhere in the system. Even a statement very close to the periphery can be held true in the face of recalcitrant experience by pleading hallucination or by amending certain statements of the kind called logical laws. Conversely, by the same token, no statement is immune to revision. (1961, p. 43)

It is interesting to note in passing, that the other side of the distinction—the “contingent” expressed in synthetic statements—has also been under attack, most notably by Sellars (1961). His arguments constitute an assault on the entrenched empiricist notion of “the given”—those pure intuitions of immediate awareness, which in order, or the distinction to hold, must be distinguished from and set over and against the necessary, conceptual or linguistic components of knowledge. Clearly, “if all human awareness, including that of sense particulars, is a linguistic affair” (Sellars 1961, p. 160), and therefore belongs to “the logical space of reasons, of justifying and being able to justify what one says” (ibid., p. 160), then there is no longer anything over and against which to set concepts and, accordingly, the analytic enterprise is deprived of an important pole in its crucial intuition-concept distinction. Rorty (1980) construes Sellars’ critique of the “framework of givenness” and Quine’s critique of the necessary-contingent distinction as two radical challenges to the Kantian foundations of analytic philosophy (see especially Chapter 4). He presents both as forms of holism, which he argues is “a product of their commitment 4 Quine

(1969), partly as a result of his earlier analysis, comes to argue, or a “naturalized” epistemology: psychology replaces the traditional philosophical branch of epistemology.

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to the thesis that justification is not a matter of a special relation between ideas (or words) and objects, but of conversation, of social practice” (p. 170). Smith (1982) in a retrospective view of philosophy in the last fifty years bases his questioning of the validity of the reflexive turn, and “of the linguistic turn insofar as it continues the idea that all philosophical discussion must be preceded by some form of preliminary analysis” (p. 123) precisely on grounds to do with the inadequacy of the classical empiricist view of the nature of experience. Given Quine’s and Wittgenstein’s doubts and Sellar’s attack on the “myth of the given” it is difficult to see how analytic philosophers of education can still hold to the conception of philosophy as a second-order discipline with a separate and special field of inquiry. To call into question a distinction on which the analytic enterprise rests is to cast serious doubt on the privileged epistemic position of the philosopher able either to carry out allegedly neutral analyses, or to produce so-called logical and conceptual truths. Certainly, the view that philosophers of education seem to hold— viz., that by removing discussion to the meta-level by means of studying language we can eliminate disagreement in advance—is, as it stands, unsound, or disagreement, has already reappeared at the critical level—disagreement that constitutes a direct challenge to the very idea of theory-free and privileged status, or critical standpoints. In the remainder of this section it is my intention to review the disagreement that has re-emerged at the critical level in the philosophy of education by reference to Peters’ analysis of the concept “education”, for it is only in a practical working example that the issues involving the contentious notions of conceptual truth and value-free neutrality, and the more general problem of what constitutes an adequate analysis, fully come to light. Throughout this discussion I want also to show the ways in which Peters deviates from and rejects the full implications of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy. An initial important point to note is the way in which Peters’, methodology and his analysis of the concept “education” changes over time. Beginning with an early work in the field of philosophical psychology, Peters (1958) clearly embraces some form of a Wittgensteinian pluralist theory of meaning emphasizing the rule following nature of human activities and recognizing how such rules are specific to particular societies. A year later Peters, in conjunction with Benn (Benn and Peters 1959 [1965]), reinforces this Wittgensteinian view of language by adopting explicitly the “meaning as use” dictum (p. 66) and, once again, emphasizing the variety of contexts: “the meaning of a word is inseparable from the variety of contexts in which it is used. To treat one property as “essential… would be to make one context a standard, or all contexts “ (p. 66). Only a short time later, however, Peters (1963) does a complete about face. We read in his Inaugural Lecture that he intends to explicate the “essence” of education by presenting “three essential criteria of education” (p. 103). Peters (1963) does acknowledge the importance of context even here: “what would be objectionable would be to suppose that certain characteristic could be regarded as essential irrespective of context” (p. 8). What starts out as a Wittgensteinian warning, in Peters’ hands becomes a criticism of regarding the sociological or economic context as the only one and of describing education as a socializing process or community investment. But it seems that Peters does not take his argument concerning the importance

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of context as seriously applying to his own activity of analysis, nor is he apparently willing to advance reasons why he overrides an obviously important methodological tenet of the ordinary language creed. for Peters to acknowledge that the activity of making distinctions, or drawing conceptual boundaries, takes place within a purposive context and that the boundaries one draws will, in large measure, depend on the specific purpose one has in mind, would be to destroy the authoritativeness of his own conceptual claims based, as they are, on the allegedly ahistorical nature of his approach and the supposed neutrality of his analysis. By 1966 Peters has fully incorporated the apparent contradiction between acknowledging the importance of context and yet accepting some version of essentialism, into his account. The tension between a pluralism that results from the Wittgensteinian emphasis on the context-specificity of general terms (1966a, p. 23), and the essentialism Peters needs to identify the evaluative aspect of “education” and so get his argument going, becomes fully evident. His attempt to resolve this tension is not satisfactory. Although Peters (1966a) acknowledges that it would be mistaken to search, for a formula encompassing the different uses of a general term, he advises “this does not imply the abandonment of criteria? rather it leads us to distinguish between central and peripheral usages of the terms” (p. 24). Notwithstanding the difficulty of recognizing the standard use of a word of ordinary language, or as is commonly recognized there may not be one standard use, or the problem of being able to select or justify central usages over peripheral ones, Peters maintains that it is possible to explicate the criteria implicit in the central cases of “education”, each of which is to be construed as a conceptual truth. Accordingly, he identifies the following criteria: (i) that ‘education’ implies the transmission of what is worthwhile to those who become committed to it; (ii) that ‘education’ must involve knowledge and understanding and some kind of cognitive perspective, which are not inert; (iii) that ‘education’ at least rules out some procedures of transmission, on the grounds that they lack wittingness and voluntariness. (p. 45)

Although Peters (1966a) invokes Wittgenstein over the importance of context and mentions Wittgenstein’s criticism of those who wish to construe the meaning of mentalistic terms “on the model of names which are associated with some typical referent” (p. 24), it is generally clear that Peters wants to question Wittgenstein’s theory of meaning, although he does not do so directly. “Many might claim that Wittgenstein was in fact mistaken in the application of this thesis to the analysis of particular mentalistic terms; but few would deny that his general thesis was a salutary if unoriginal one” (p. 24). However, in tandem with Hirst (1970), Peters comes to directly question whether Wittgenstein was right about there being no common characteristics which the uses of a general term might share. Actually it can be doubted whether Wittgenstein was even right about this particular concept, or how would we know which samples to lay out in order to look, or the similarities? Why did not Wittgenstein take gardening or getting married as examples of games? Does this not show that there is some more general principle which underlies calling things ‘games’ which he might have overlooked? (p. 6)

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Although they take Wittgenstein’s comments as salutary warnings that “we may not always be successful even in our search, or logically necessary conditions, or the use of a word” (p. 6), they nevertheless believe that such conditions can be found, and that it is the business of philosophers to find them. By this stage, however, Peters’ analysis has shifted from the essential properties of “education” he identified earlier, to an analysis of “education” as a differentiated concept that centres around the “educated man” 1970). I shall deal with this shift in analysis in the course of addressing the more general problems of analysis by reference to the sorts of internal criticisms that have arisen over the years. Soltis (1971), employing a Kuhnian framework, traces the rise of the analytic paradigm in educational philosophy. He attempts to show how it replaces traditional questions, and once having achieved dominance, how then it develops its own anomalies. Soltis explores, in greater detail, two such anomalies: the first is internal to the analytic paradigm and represents dissatisfaction with the results of analyses of the concept of learning; the second is external—that having allegedly expunged the value component from analysis at the theoretical level, it is very difficult, if not impossible, to prevent values from creeping into an analysis at the practical. It is important to note that the dissatisfaction Soltis voices is not with analysis per se, but with the results of analysis, for it leaves us unable to deal with substantial educational questions concerning values and social issues that persist as major problems but seem resistant to the analytic approach. By way of remedy to this methodological problem, Soltis concludes by suggesting that we incorporate the normative and evaluative components back into the analytic paradigm. It is a suggestion that Soltis (1981) implicitly follows up in his appeal to a “sociocentric” concept of knowledge which, he believes, we are on the verge of formulating and adopting. From a Cartesian view of mind, an associationist view of learning, and an absolutist view of knowledge, I believe we have been moving toward what might be called an ‘organic’ view of mind, a transactional view of learning, and a ‘constructionist’ view of knowledge. (p. 97)

Central to this Copernican-type shift from an “egocentric” to a “sociocentric” view of knowledge is the recognition that “knowledge cannot be separated from knowers, that human beings construct different knowledge systems, and that all knowledge is imbedded in the fabric of social life” (p. 98). It is a view that Soltis tentatively formulates by reference to such thinkers as Berger and Luckmann (1966), Polanyi (1964 [1946]), Piaget (his genetic epistemology), and Kuhn (1962). Soltis’ (1981) recent attempt at a characterization of the “sociocentric” view of knowledge is one, which takes his earlier comments on the importance of context seriously. Edel (1973) sees that Soltis’ remedy of simply an adding of the empirical and the normative to the analytic is not enough. What he proposes is a thoroughgoing reconstruction of the method by a fuller integration of the empirical, the normative and the contextual within the analytic method. For Edel, the major problem of how to judge what is a correct or an adequate analysis is but a symptom of a more basic diagnosis involving the cast given to analytic method by the dogmas it inherited from logical positivism—that is, the sharp separation of philosophical analysis from the

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empirical the normative and from genetic-causal accounts. While such separations were essential to the construction of formal systems, characteristic of positivism ordinary language analysis cannot proceed “without asking what factual structure it might apply to, or what purposes it might further, or what socio-cultural forces begot it” (p. 234). He suggests, as indeed I have attempted to demonstrate, that “all the dogmas would have been rejected in analytic philosophy if the notion of context had been taken with full seriousness and if linguistic change had been as well-tilled a field as linguistic pattern” (p. 234). Edel makes his most trenchant criticism at the point when he considers the difficulty of knowing exactly how to judge what is a correct or adequate analysis. His comments on this issue deserve a more detailed examination. He chooses Peters’ analysis of “education” and the shift from the position Peters (1966a) initially embraces to the position he later occupies in “Education and the Educated Man” (1970) as the vehicle through which to bring out his criticisms. The question is, then, what makes Peters’ revised analysis better than his original one? In the revised analysis Peters finds it necessary to introduce a distinction between the processes of education and its outcome—an educated man—in order to take account of troublesome counter examples, for instance, those suggested by Woods (1973) and Dray (1973) concerning the use of “education”, in different societies.5 The effect of breaking the connection between the processes and the outcomes not only allows Peters to accommodate deviant uses of “education” but also to overcome the problem over talk of aims. In the first analysis it was Peters’ contention that we could not meaningfully talk of “aims” in education, or “education” as the initiation into worthwhile activities already had the notion of aim built into the concept. With the revised analysis it then became possible to speak of aims with respect to education, but not with respect to the educated man. What, then, asks Edel, are the grounds, or Peters’ revised analysis? He begins by referring to Peters’ own assessment, and mentions the conclusion Peters arrives at—that, in effect, anomalies arose in the earlier analysis because it represented the outcome of an historical trend in usage not quite complete. In Peters’ account the burden of clarification is borne by his historical-genetic-valuational account of the ways in which and the grounds on which the usage changed. To put the results of such an account into the re-analysis and change the definition thus reflects some ground of decision of Peters’ part…. (p. 248)

Edel locates the ground, for Peters’ meta-analytical decision in the idea that the second definition better reflects the current state of usage. But, if as we have been led 5 Woods

and Dray were among the first to challenge the conditions laid down by Peters for the concepts “education” and “aim”, and hence are historically important in tracing the development of analytic philosophy of education. Not only did they put forward counter-examples to Peters’ analyses but they cast doubt on the form of linguistic analysis he employed, suggesting that the sorts of conditions Peters attempted to draw fell short of logical necessity. Peters (1973), in his reply, maintains that the connections he draws are more than merely de facto ones. He appeals to Wittgenstein (p. 43), in suggesting the notion of conceptual connection, though the notion remains vague and lacks theoretical backing. See also Reddiford (1972).

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to believe, the first analysis was based on a neutral analysis, it is difficult to understand how this situation could have arisen. further, given the emphasis of conceptual analysis on the mapping out of necessary conditions, or the use of a concepts it is difficult to understand Peters’ recourse to the historical story behind “education” or his attention to usage—the actual incidence of the employment of the concept. Such an investigation seems more at home in an empirical context than it does, given the claims of analytic philosophers concerning the nature and status of their discipline, in a “philosophical” context. It should be noted that in his examination of Peters’ two definitions, Edel ends up by favouring a richer type of analysis of the earlier version although he demonstrates that there are gains and losses in clarity whichever way we go. His ideas of what constitutes a “richer” analysis in this context are instructive. Begin with a preamble, giving the kind of historical information Peters invokes…about industrialism and the growing stress on knowledge. Estimate the extent and strength of the trends and analyze the vital conflicts as they effect the lives of man for example, the forces of corporatism that make them passive organization men and the pressure of problems that require active participation and inventiveness. Add the kinds of ethical considerations Peters holds to about worthwhile activities—as explicit ethical views. Add the picture of the current state of linguistic usage and the historical and value roots, and what coalescence and what fissions are taking place. Then, propose the definition as expressive of historicalvaluational-linguistic grounds, showing how far it represents trends or resistance to trends, possible solutions to problems, and so on. (p. 250)

Edel’s recommendations are, to a large extent, already implicit in the procedure Peters follows—a fact that seems to indicate that the practice of Peters as conceptual analyst is at variance with the methodological guidelines he purports to accept. It could be argued that all that Edel has done is to make explicit those aspects which are already implicit in the practice of analysis. Having used historical grounds, or explaining minor corrections in present use, he [Peters] might as well expand his historical judgements as a basis, or distinguishing more significant from less significant use. And having seen this integral role of historical actors in fashioning his analytical product he might as well recognize the purposive and valuational components that operate both in history and in their own right in the analytic process. (p. 250)

Edel attempts to show, then, that social and ethical choices enter into analysis as the result of the constructive activity on the part of the analyst; that they, along with empirical and historical considerations, are integral at points of choice throughout the analysis. In effect, his argument is one against the presuppositions inherent in the analytic tradition conceived of from a particular point of view; in particular, those presuppositions which supposedly set philosophy apart from other disciplines to create a screen of neutrality from which issue forth the ahistorical analyses of concepts and adjudications on various knowledge-claims. Earlier in the same article Edel (1973) traces the career or history of the Rylean distinction between “knowing that” and “knowing how” and its implications, or types of learning. He attempts to demonstrate that progress in clarification has been due more to a tacit appeal to the experience of teaching and learning than to the identification of ordinary language uses of those terms. I am not so much interested

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here in the details of his account of the career of the distinction, as in the general conclusions he arrives at. These conclusions are of additional relevance considering the central role attributed to “knowledge” in education by Peters and Hirst, who along with Scheffler (1965) and others (for example, Gribble 1969; Beck 1974), assume a justified true belief account of knowledge with an emphasis on the justification condition. Edel makes two general points which serve to emphasize the shortcomings of the approach of conceptual analysis. First, in consideration of the range of expressions involving the term “know” he suggests that the distinctions developed by analytic philosophers are too narrow, and that there are other possibilities to follow. Thus, he mentions Aristotle’s distinction between “knowing that” and “knowing why”? Russell’s “knowledge by acquaintance” versus “knowledge by description”; William James’ “knowledge by acquaintance”, and “knowledge about”; Bergson’s distinction between “inner” and “outer” knowledge; and the distinction Martin Buber draws between “thou-knowledge” and “it-knowledge”. One could go on adding to the list almost indefinitely. Edel’s purpose in mentioning these distinctions is to show that other philosophers have made the linguistic cuts differently, and that the cuts have depended upon a specific purpose. His second general point proceeds from the first; in linguistic analysis there has not been sufficient awareness of the relativity of the cuts or the options involved. He argues, for instance, that “linguistic inquiry has not focused sharply enough on whether the cutting line is drawn through ‘know’ (by distinguishing meanings) or through the difference of preposition and conjunctive adverb or through the type of object” (p. 244). What Edel does well is not only to emphasize the limited nature of much linguistic inquiry but also to show that analysis involves meta-analytical decisions about the cuts that have been drawn, and that these decisions involve value judgements which are disguised by claims about the neutrality and ahistorical nature of the approach being used. The message is clear—we must recognize the contextual nature of our thinking and the socio-historical background which influences the decisions we make. Upon reflection we must examine and freely state both our purposes in performing an activity, and, as much as possible, recognize the influences upon them. The irony is that in the realm of contemporary philosophy of education, especially represented in the work of the “London school” led by Peters and Hirst, the view of philosophy as centring around the method of conceptual analysis and description has become associated with the resurrection of certain theories to do with the nature of meaning and language, which paradoxically were part and parcel of a bundle of doctrines that ordinary language philosophy—at least that brand which originated with Wittgenstein—began by trying to combat. The lesson Wittgenstein tries to teach is clear. When philosophers use a word—‘knowledge’, ‘being’, ‘object’, ‘I’, ‘proposition’,‘name’— and try to grasp the essence of the thing, one must always ask oneself: is the word ever actually used in this way in the language-game which is its original home?- What we [as philosophers ] do is to bring words back from their metaphysical to their everyday use. (P.I. 116)

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The paradoxical aspect is that the method of analysis of contemporary philosophers of education in the analytic tradition has closer affinities with the Tractatus as a logical and reductive analysis of language, than with the emphasis on the diversity of linguistic use which emerges as a major theme in the Investigations. Gilroy (1982) picks up this point well in discussing the relation of Peters and the “London school” to the two main phases of the methodological revolution in analytic philosophy. His paper is an attempt to argue that philosophy of education is, as a branch of philosophy proper, out of touch with mainstream developments and that this mismatch occurred during the initial stages of establishment. More importantly he notes that Peters et al. pay lip-service to the Wittgensteinian view concerning their context-specificity but then proceed to extract and identify purely formal criteria from informal, everyday contexts. He further points out that the pluralist implications of the view that meanings are use-dependent, are resisted in favour of the thesis that underlying the myriad of different usages of various terms there are essential meanings to be uncovered by analysis. This kind of analysis is obviously reductive and the regress of analysis is halted not, as before, at linguistic atoms of meaning but at essences identified as being the ‘central use’ of the term under consideration, justified by being related to a context-free value system through the use of a transcendental argument. (p. 85)

Others have made similar criticisms. For instance, Pratte (1981), having surfaced a series of felt criticisms and anxieties he takes to represent a growing resistance, resentment and rejection of the method of analysis as the repository of a superior knowledge and methodology, focuses on the criticism which has its source in the way analytic philosophy of education “fosters decontextualization of the spoken or written word” (p. 8). Decontextualization he explains, refers to “the ‘depersonalization’ or elimination of the speaker as having a position, role, status, etc.”, and concentrating on the utterances as non-speaker implicated” (fn. 9, p. 17). “In this respect ‘analysis’ …is an approach lacking in reflexity; or it one-sidedly focuses on the language of education as object but occludes the speaker or speaking subject to which it is an object” (p. 8). Raywid (1981) in response to Pratte’s paper, concurs with his main criticism, and drawing support from Dewey, argues that analysis actually falsifies when its findings are treated as absolutes. Such philosophizing falls prey to twin disorders: ‘the analytic fallacy’ which leads to ‘atomistic particularism’ in its ‘denial of all connection and continuity’; and its counterpart, the ‘fallacy of unlimited extension or universalization’ which occurs when limiting conditions are removed along with context. ‘When the context is suppressed… elements become absolute, for they have no limiting conditions. Results of inquiry valid within specifiable limits of context are ipso facto converted into sweeping metaphysical doctrines’. (p. 26)

In view of an inadequately formulated methodology or theory of language, it is difficult to know in philosophy of education exactly how to settle disputes that arise among those who disagree over a point of analysis. Further, and more generally, it is difficult to know what language is ordinary, or even when a use of an expression is an ordinary language use.

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Ordinary language is not an unchanging or static medium protected from “contamination” from other realms of discourse. It subsists in relation not only to practical, everyday states of affairs but also to the other realms of language and thus reflects the wider changes in the economic, political and technological fabric of society. This, in fact, constitutes the “openness” of ordinary language. Given the difficulties of analysis recognized here, and the fact that many educational philosophers, (particularly those influenced by the Oxford model), talk of “reforming” ordinary language, or of offering stipulative definitions and linguistic recommendations, it is not all clear that ordinary language is adequate to the purposes of description, nor that it can carry the weight expected of it. What is more, the simple claim for neutrality based on the appeal to a certain conception of ordinary language becomes suspect when loaded with talk, of reform; often it amounts to disguised talk of the way things should be. The emphasis on a pure and simple description of language perpetuates the idea of value-free neutrality by seemingly freeing the describer or analyst from questions to do with the theoretical-methodological stance implicitly adopted, or the purposive context within which the so-called descriptions are made. There is, quite simply, no such thing as a presuppositionless inquiry. Whether it be in the empirical sciences or in philosophy of language, the notion of “pure” description is a dogma that survives to serve ideological purposes. All description takes place within a purposive and theoretical context which is itself imbued with a welter of presuppositions. It is clear that fragmented as it may be, behind the descriptions is a vague consensus among analytic philosophers of education on a tacit body of metatheory as to the nature of philosophy, and a series of methodological prescriptions about the way in which descriptive analyses should take place. Those unrecognized epistemological assumptions in ordinary language analysis as it has come to be practiced in philosophy of education, however, often become the basis for advancing or discrediting alternative philosophical positions or methods. The very word “description” is open to numerous interpretations and to assume as the very basis of ordinary language philosophy, a simple and unchanging use of this word to characterize an unproblematic activity of a certain kind of philosophy, is to seriously mislead. Toulmin and Baier (1963) identify nine or ten distinctions involving the use of “description” versus “non-description”, some of which themselves need sub-dividing, and many of which actually cut across one another. They end with the following recommendation. Forms of words…are incapable of masquerading. But we who classify them, for our own purposes, may be confused about our own classifications. Just how different distinctions are drawn, is some-thing that no one has ever clearly stated. The first thing is to recognize this fact: then we can begin on the laborious but indispensable task of coming to understand our own linguistic techniques. (p. 219)

It is curious, and paradoxical, that the claims advanced by ordinary language philosophers of education as to the descriptive and, therefore, neutral role of philosophy of education, should be based, in part, on the largely unexamined assumption about the use and meaning of “description” which underlies the methodology.

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Even the central and somewhat elusive notion of conceptual truth has been seen as best construed as validity within conceptual schema (Reddiford 1972) or within theories (Evers 1979). Reddiford’s (1972) earlier paper bears a close similarity to that of Evers (1979) on the importance of context. Both papers are complex and of a somewhat technical nature, Evers’ more so than Reddiford’s, and although I cannot do full justice to their arguments, here some mention must be made of their findings on the contextual nature of conceptual truth. Reddiford, is concerned with the logical status of conceptual connections, and in particular, those that are taken by Peters to subsist between “education” and “value”, and between “being educated” and “knowledge and understanding”. He is interested in investigating the place of these conceptual connections in the frameworks that support then, and in the “possibilities of conceptual change that they afford” (p. 193). His understanding of conceptual truths as those statements which express conceptual connections is, of itself, illuminating. Such statements, he holds, are, indeed, necessary truths. They are directly informative of the way we understand or think about the world, but they are not simply de facto true nor forced upon us either by the way the world is, or by the ways we understand the world. Conceptual truths, thus, fall short of being knowable a priori: this is the sense in which they do not provide the indispensable conditions for anyone understanding anything at all or, to put it in more Kantian terms, they do not provide the conditions of the very possibility of having any sorts of experiences. On the contrary they seem to be dependent upon a number of factors which are manifestly contingent. (p. 200)

Reddiford constructs a number of arguments to show that such truths are contingent both upon our level of understanding (a point, Peters himself argues for) and our possession of certain social purposes. Not all individuals nor all societies have the same level of understanding or the same social purposes. It is a contingent matter that each individual or society has those they do and they could always be conceived as having different ones. While clearly there are limits in the way I can employ a word or concept within an area of discourse if I wish to retain that conceptual system for the conduct of conceptual disputes, it is also true that “to the extent that I can choose to make some discriminations and ignore others, and can choose what my social purposes are to be then I can choose which conceptual frameworks, and hence conceptual truths, to adopt and express” (p. 203). In application to Peters’ analysis Reddiford wants to maintain two general conclusions. First, he argues for the statement that there are many “correct” uses of a particular concept within a given conceptual system, and attempts to demonstrate this by reference to the concept “education”. Second, he maintains that the notion of “correct use” is of limited value in the analysis of conceptual systems. He argues for the former conclusion on the grounds that the “correct-incorrect” distinction fails to accord with that between logical necessity and self-contradiction for while talk of the incorrect application of a term implies that there are correcting-type procedures there are no such procedures for correcting contradictions, as nothing has been said by them. further, he argues that an account of the correctness of application cannot consist in showing that it is logically necessary that a term should be so used for

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ultimately the force of the ascription of correctness depends simply on the fact that people regularly accept or reject usages these words appraise. Reddiford’s argument for the second conclusion is more difficult to fathom. He seems to be arguing simply that “when the cost becomes too high” of maintaining a particular concept, say, “education”, then the “framework-holder” is faced with the logical possibilities of either relinquishing the position(s) he maintains regarding the concept or of abandoning the conceptual framework altogether. While Reddiford’s concern for conceptual change here is philosophically relevant and interesting, his arguments are somewhat obscure. Certainly, he is right to emphasize that conceptual change is inextricably linked with rational criticism within societies (p. 213), and that both individuals and societies can bring about intentional changes in their social purposes and levels of understanding that may result in conceptual changes. further, it is true, as he attempts to demonstrate by reference to the history of science, that conceptual change proceeds not only from “the alteration of background conditions that sustain the discussion of issues deemed important but also from the need to raise new questions and face new issues”(p. 21), but he surely over-estimates and over-simplifies the processes involved in conceptual change and the power of the individual to choose a different conceptual system. In this Reddiford implicity seems to assimilate the status of an argument or theory to that of a conceptual system, and thereby gives a false impression of the changeability of conceptual systems—which is to emphasize the discontinuities at the expense of the continuities. While I would want to agree with the Wittgensteinian and Quinean position that no statement (including analytic ones), is immune to change and revision, there is a sense in which framework statements (or propositions which serve as foundations for a system), are more stable or less resistant to change than the possible arguments or theories formulated within them. From this point of view Evers’ (1979) conclusion that “the problem of analytical adequacy might be more profitably subsumed under the general problem of theory adequacy” (p. 1), appears to be a more acceptable and promising solution, Evers takes up the problem identified by Edel (1973)—that of determining the adequacy of analyses—and both criticizes essentialist interpretations of Wittgenstein and offers a Quinean critique of conceptual modality. His arguments against Peters’ and Hirsts’ conception of analytic method are salutary. Having considered the “logical truth” version of analysis and found it wanting, Evers reformulates analysis in terms of conceptual conditions” and “conceptual truth” as follows. I will call the truths expressed by conjoining a use of a word in context SI with the condition S2 of it being an example of central usage, a conceptual truth, and the condition S2, which, unlike a necessary condition, need not obtain in all cases, a conceptual condition. The relationship between conceptual conditions and conceptual truth, like the relationship between necessary conditions and necessary truth, can be expressed, at least as a first approximation, by permitting a conceptual condition for correctly using a term in statement SI is that S2 be true in most cases to be reparsed as the assertion of conceptual truth Conceptually, if SI then S2. (p. 5)

But this methodological strategy simply shifts the problem to specifying how we draw the “central/peripheral” distinction for it is only by distinguishing between the

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central and peripheral uses of a word that we are able to distinguish between “genuine counter-examples to a piece of bad analysis and mere instances not covered by the ‘true in most cases’ clause” (p. 5). Evers points out, however, that the “central/peripheral” distinction must be drawn independently of “most cases” considerations, “otherwise we reason in a circle and our identification of genuine counterexamples lapses” (p. 5). He comments that this problem would not have arisen if we had some means of identifying in advance instances of bad analysis, from which the genuineness of counter-examples would then follow: “But this is precisely the problem the shift from logical truth to conceptual truth was supposed to solve” (p. 5). His conclusion is salutary. It ought to be clear now that on this account the difficulties involved in establishing some plausible basis for legislating on matters of usage have little to do with cases, paradigm, central, peripheral, singular or otherwise. The whole idea of choosing cases for inferring criteria with which to choose cases was a mistake to begin with. It far Is on the simple point that the classification of uses is a theoretical enterprise whose outcome is determined in advance by some theory; for example, a theory of education. (p. 6)

Later Evers considers that more sophisticated “criteriological” view and suggests that “the epistemic foundation of statements expressing criterial relations, like necessary truths, involves either some appeal to essentialism or depends merely upon the acceptability of some theory in which they figure” (p. 2). I do not intend to review Evers’ argument here, or to dispute the relative merits of an essentialist versus a nonessentialist interpretation of Wittgenstein. There is an overwhelming literature on the Criterion Doctrine and it is beyond the scope of this chapter to investigate it. Suffice it to say that while some scholars construe criterial constraints as logical truths or, more correctly, interpret criteria as logically necessary and sufficient conditions for the application of a term which, once satisfied, give s its meaning (see Hacker 1972), others construe them as being synthetic or purely conventional, changing with the context of use (see Albritton 1959; Canfield 1974). Evers follows Lycan (1971) who against both factions, interprets criterial constraints as statements of non-inductive evidence. Finally, Evers employs Quinean type arguments to challenge the whole category of necessary or conceptual truth (pp. 10–14). The overall direction of his criticisms serves to clearly show not only that disagreement has reappeared at the meta-level, but also that there are good reasons for supposing that the central question of analytical adequacy cannot be solved in a manner internal to the analytic paradigm in the philosophy of education. In arguing against the epistemic pretensions of a method of philosophy that describes itself as a second order activity, I have insisted that the basis of justification is to be found in good theory, that analysis is best seen as a theory specific, theory dependent task and that conceptual truth or necessity be viewed as validity within theories. (p. 14)

What I have attempted to demonstrate in this section (and, in fact in this and the previous chapter) is that the approach of analytic philosophy of education centres around a method of analysis which itself rests on a series of presuppositions about the nature of philosophy. In order to do this I found it necessary to elaborate and

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comment upon the general conception of philosophy, and of philosophical method, relating them to a mainstream philosophical tradition, and tracing its development. I have examined the presuppositions on which these conceptions of philosophy and philosophical method rest, and criticized the ahistoricism evident in both. In particular, I have criticized the myth of neutrality and how it operates at the level of conceptual analysis to disguise the value—judgements and theory-laden statements made by analytic philosophers of education. Further, I have shown how in some important, fundamental ways, analytic philosophy of education recoils on its historical origins with a return to essentialism, which while paying lip-service to the importance of context and the diversity of linguistic usage actually “turns a blind eye” to both. The appeal to the authority of Wittgenstein on the nature of philosophy by analytic philosophers of education, which is thought to license what amounts to an anti-Wittgensteinian approach to analysis, is, at best, a confusion, and at worst, a contradiction. I have demonstrated by reference to the internal disagreement which has reappeared at the meta-level that the idea of a neutral and presuppositionless method of analysis, is entirely suspect, and have attempted to indicate, following the criticisms that have been made, the sorts of changes that are necessary to the method it centres around if we are to rehabilitate philosophy of education from its ahistoricism. The approach of analytic philosophy requires a justification, not only in general, but at a level which recognizes and accounts for the meta-analytical decisions such philosophers make in the name of neutrality, if something of its value is to be preserved and if it is to be of value in the future. Such a justification, however, has not been forthcoming, and in terms of the first principles inherent in an approach which characterizes philosophy as a second-order, presuppositionless activity, it is difficult to see how one could be constructed. And yet these basic methodological inadequacies and troubles which persist in the very heart of the nature of analytic philosophy of education do not stop the stream of texts and articles published in its name.6 What is required to overcome these ills is not only a reconstruction of method with the concomitant changes in the nature of analytic philosophy of education which will ensue, but also both the development of new approaches and a greater recognition of the diversity that already exists in the philosophy of education. In summary, then, it can be said that the guiding conception of philosophy as a second-order, autonomous and presuppositionless activity centring around a method of analysis has proved more of a hindrance than a help to philosophy of education. It has resulted in an ahistoricism and an absolutism that accords the philosopher of education a privileged epistemic role which is neither justified nor desirable. This role, itself, has promoted the elitism of a small band of professional philosophers in education at the expense of a wider dialogue with researchers in associated disciplines, and with practising teachers. Such a conception of philosophy has proved to bolster the inherently conservative nature of the analytic approach in education. The almost obsessional preoccupation with method, confined as it is to the analysis of past usage, has produced an unquestioning attitude to its own justification and the 6 See

also Austin (1979), who argues for criteriology as a minimally theoretical method.

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alternative purposes it might serve (see Walker 1983). This conception of philosophy has both encouraged and sanctioned an almost exclusive interest in the method and fruits of ahistorical analysis which has perpetuated the myth of neutrality and prohibited philosophers of education from becoming embroiled in substantive educational issues. The method of analysis has unduly narrowed the scope of philosophy of education by focusing on the logic of the language of education at the expense of less formal but equally important features. The ahistoricism of philosophy of education and its method has discouraged philosophers practicing in its name from examining their own values and political stances and the way these intrude on the analyses they construct. Finally, the conception of philosophy and of philosophical method prevalent in the analytic approach in education has prevented philosophers from recognizing their origins, and the way the past continues to exert an influence on the present. Given the analysis and arguments presented so far we may briefly inquire what the method of Conceptual Analysis—and a philosophy of education wedded to such a method—might look like once it is divorced from the ahistoricism characterized in its allegedly second-order character its supposed neutrality and autonomy. Clearly, once such pretensions are realized, some form(s) of linguistic analysis may be re-admitted. There is no doubt that the form of analysis practised by Peters and his colleagues has a role to play in philosophy of education, especially given the actual historical character of many of the analyses that have been put forward. It is to be hoped that the historical ingredient will be more clearly recognized, and that the actual changes in the development or evolution of concepts plotted and documented more carefully with recourse to the ways in which such concepts—at their different stages of development—have been used by some groups for different intellectual and political purposes. Certainly, given the sorts of doubts raised by Wittgenstein, and Quine, about the type of hard and fast distinctions upon which the analytic enterprise rests (a series of doubts echoed by philosophers of education), it will become necessary to avoid casting statements into mutually exclusive and somewhat simplistic categories. While realizing that no statement is immune to revision—that even “framework facts” which serve a “logical” role, shift in their nature—it may well become part of the job of the linguistic analyst in education to invent a series of gradations of types of concept according to their relative stability. The duration and persistence of a certain set of concepts in Western culture surely can be explained only in historical terms. Nothing other than the patience and disciplined demarcation of concepts in their historical evolution will suffice to understand the categories we so readily apply today. If truth is properly regarded as an intra-theoretic feature of sentences (Quine 1960, p. 24; Davidson 1975, p. 20), then, it will undoubtedly serve the interests of philosophy of education for analysts to locate concepts within their theoretical frameworks and attempt to trace the evolution of such structures. At this point, the history of educational ideas and theories quite clearly merges indistinguishably from the activity of philosophical analysis itself, and while, no doubt, the size of the undertaking may require a certain professional specialization, it is to be hoped that any resulting specialization will not develop into a series of divisive pursuits.

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If the notion of theory becomes the main unit of analysis, as has been recently advocated by others in philosophy of education (Evers and Walker 1982, p. 41), we must not forget the recent experience of, and tendency in philosophy of science, to move to larger and larger units of analysis. We must understand and attempt to take seriously the importance of context; that concepts belong within theoretical structures; and that theories, themselves, are part of larger frameworks (cf. the notion of a research programme). Further, it is clear that at each level of analysis what is required is not simply an “internalist” history of the development of concept, theory, and inter-theoretical framework, but the attempt to link each, at its various stage of development, to the larger context—to the socio-historical conditions of its age, and to the intellectual and political uses to which it has been put. Nor is this a backward-looking enterprise, for simultaneously, and often on the ground of this type of historical analysis, we should be modifying existing theories and constructing new theories that enable us not only to make educational and social progress, but also to understand better where we have been and where we are going. Indeed, these two general goals are mutually self-fulfilling.

References Albritton, R. (1959). On Wittgenstein’s use of the term ‘criterion’. Journal of Philosophy, 56, 845–857. Austin, J. (1979). Criteriology: A minimally theoretical method. Metaphilosophy, 10, 1–17. Beck, C. M. (1974). Educational philosophy and theory: An introduction. Boston: Little, Brown. Benn, S. I., & Peters, R. S. (1959 [1965]). The principles of political thought. New York: Free Press Edition. Berger, T., & Luckmann. (1966). The social construction of reality: A treatise in the sociology of knowledge. New York: Doubleday. Broudy, H. S. (1981). The professionalization and politicization of the curriculum. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 13(3), 247–252. https://doi.org/10.1080/0022027810130307. Canfield, J. V. (1974). Criteria and method. Metaphilosophy, 5(4), 298–315. Davidson, D. (1975). On the very idea of a conceptual scheme. Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association, 47, 5–20. Dray, W. H. (1973). Commentary. In R. S. Peters (Ed.), The philosophy of education (pp. 34–39). London: Oxford University Press. Edel, A. (1973). Analytic philosophy of education at the crossroads. In J. F. Doyle (Ed.), Educational judgements (pp. 232–257). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Evers, C. (1979). Analytic philosophy of education from a logical point of view. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 11(2), 1–16. Evers, C., & Walker, J. (1982). The unity of knowledge. Access, 1(2), 32–47. Gilroy, D. P. (1982). The revolutions in english philosophy and philosophy of education. Educational Analysis, 4(1), 75–92. Gribble, J. (1969). Introduction to philosophy of education. Allyn and Bacon. Haack, R. J. (1976). Philosophies of Education. Philosophy, 51, 159–176. Hacker, P. M. S. (1972). Insight and illusion: Wittgenstein on philosophy and the metaphysics of experience. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hardie, C. O. (1942). Truth and fallacy in educational theory. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Hirst, P. H. (1963). Philosophy and educational theory. British Journal of Educational Studies, 12(1), 51–64. Hirst, P. H. (1974). Knowledge and the curriculum. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hirst, P. H. (1982). Philosophy of education: The significance of the sixties. Educational Analysis, 4, 5–10. Hirst, P. H., & Peters, R. S. (1970). The logic of education. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Kuhn, T. (1962). The structure of scientific revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Langford, G. (1968). Philosophy and education: An introduction. London: Macmillan Press. Lycan, G. (1971). Non-inductive evidence: Recent work on Wittgenstein’s ‘Criteria’. American Philosophical Quarterly, 8(2), 109–125. Magee, J. (1971). Philosophical analysis in education. New York: Harper & Row. McClellan, J. E. (1976). Philosophy of education. Prentice Hall, NJ: Englewood Cliffs. O’Connor, D. J. (1957). An introduction to the philosophy of education. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Passmore, J. (1968). A hundred years of philosophy. Harmondsworth: Penguin Press. Peters, R. S. (1958). The concept of motivation. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Peters, R. S. (1959). Authority, responsibility and education. Routledge. Peters, R. S. (1963). Education as initiation. London: Harrap. Peters, R. S. (1964). Education as initiation (inaugural lecture). London: Evans. Peters, R. S. (1966a). Ethics and education. London: Allen & Unwin. Peters, R. S. (1966b). The philosophy of education. In J. W. Tibble (Ed.), The study of education (pp. 58–89). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Peters, R. S. (Ed.) (1967). The concept of education. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Peters, R. S. (1970). Education and the educated man. Proceedings of Education Society of Great Britain, 4, s-20. Peters, R. S. (1973). Aims of education—A conceptual inquiry. In R. S. Peters (Ed.), The philosophy of education (pp. 11–29 and 39–57). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Polanyi, M. (1964 [1946]). Science, faith and society. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Pratte, R. (1981). Getting the fly out of the bottle: Criticism of something called analytic philosophy of education. Presidential Address in C. J. B. Macmillan (Ed.), Philosophy of education 1980 (pp. 3–18). Proceedings of the Thirty-Sixth Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society. Normal, IL: P.E.S. Quine, W. V. O. (1960). Word and object (1981 ed.). Cambridge: MIT Press. Quine, W. V. O. (1961). From a logical point of view (1963 ed.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (includes “Two Dogmas of Empiricism”). Quine, W. V. O. (1969). Ontological relativity and other essays. New York: Cambridge University Press. Raywid, A. (1981). Response to Pratte: More criticisms of analytic philosophy of education. In C. J. B. Macmillan (Ed.), Philosophy of Education 1980 (pp. 23–32). Proceedings of the Thirty-Sixth Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society. Normal, IL: P.E.S. Reddiford, G. (1972). Conceptual analysis and education. Proceedings of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, VI (Supplementary Issue, 2). Rorty, R. (1980). Philosophy and the mirror of nature. Oxford: Blackwell. Scheffler, I. (1960). The language of education. Thomas, IL: Springfield. Scheffler, I. (1965). Conditions of knowledge: An introduction to epistemology and education. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sellars, W. (1961). Empiricism and the philosophy of mind. In R. Brandom (Ed.), Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (1997). Smith, M. C. (1982). A contribution to the study of Karl Marx’s philosophy of education. In D. R. De Nicola (Ed.), Philosophy of education 1981 (pp. 199–206). Proceedings of the Thirty-Seventh Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society. Normal, IL: P.E.S. Soltis, J. (1968). An introduction to the analysis of educational concepts. Reading, MA: AddisonWesley.

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Soltis, J. (1971). Analysis and anomalies in philosophy of education. In R. D. Heslep (Ed.), Philosophy of education. Proceedings of the Twenty-Seventh Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society. Edwardsville, IL. Soltis, J. (1981). Education and the concept of knowledge. In J. F. Soltis (Ed.), Philosophy and education (pp. 95–113). Chicago: NSSE. Stenhouse, D. (1979). The Wittgensteinian revolution and “linguistic” philosophy: Some implications for education and educational philosophy (Unpublished Ph.D.). Palmerston North, New Zealand: Massey University. ToulminK, S., & Baier, K. (1963). On describing. In C. E. Caton (Ed.), Philosophy of ordinary language (pp. 194–219). Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Walker, J. (1983). Some new perspectives in philosophy of education (Occasional Paper, 14, pp. 1– 60). Sydney: Department of Education, University of Sydney. Woods, J. (1973). Commentary. In R. S. Peters (Ed.), Philosophy of education (pp. 29–34). London: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 4

Three Theories of Knowledge in Education

Marxism is no mechanical materialism that would reduce social consciousness, philosophy and art to ‘economic conditions’ and whose analytical activity would entail revealing the earthly kernel of spiritual artifacts. Materialist dialectics on the contrary demonstrates how a concrete historical subject uses his material-economic base to form corresponding ideas and an entire set of forms of consciousness. Consciousness is not reduced to conditions; rather, attention is focused on the process in which a concrete subject produces and reproduces a social reality, while being historically produced and reproduced in it himself as well. Karel Kosik, Dialectics of the concrete. In R. S. Cohen & M. W. Wartofsky (Eds.), Boston Studies in the Philosophy of Science (Vol. LII, p. 69). Boston: Reidel, 1976.

(a) Introduction and the Analytic Theory of Philosophy of Education Over the last two decades epistemological concerns, particularly those involved in curriculum theory, have been dominated by Hirst’s analytic theory of knowledge. In recent years, however, other theories have arisen. Of these, two influential alternatives have been the “knowledge as production” thesis, a Marxist-structuralist view of knowledge proposed by Harris (1979) and Matthews (1980), and the “sociology of knowledge” thesis exemplified in the work of Young (1971, 1973, 1975a) and his associates. In both cases, the alternative theories may be construed as an attack on the absolutism, ahistoricism and presuppositionlessness of the analytic theory of knowledge which, in part, underlies the analytic paradigm in philosophy of education. Both serve to emphasize the social and historical dimensions of knowledge and the way in which traditional epistemology has been indirectly used by some philosophers to maintain and legitimate the existing social order. Each of the alternative theories is conceived of as part of a larger research programme which aims to provide a more comprehensive account of the way Western capitalist society functions to legitimate and to serve the interests of a dominant elite at the expense of a majority working class. Traditional knowledge as structured by the curriculum, and as organized and “distributed” by those in positions of control is seen as but one of the “instruments © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. A. Peters, Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9_4

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of power” by which such an inequitable social order is maintained and reproduced. These “radical” theories are thus, challenges to both traditional epistemology and the existing structure of schooling and society. They stand in stark contrast to the inherently conservative theses propounded by Hirst and Peters. These “radical” theories adopt what can be loosely termed “Marxist” approaches, and the notions of rationality with which they work are “accordingly” very much tied to the idea of ameliorative change. It is not an over-simplification to say that where Hirst espouses a notion of rationality that is, to all intents and purposes, fixed for all time in existing practices leading to knowledge—anchored in the universal demands for intelligibility and objectivity—both the structuralists and the proponents of the sociology of knowledge thesis attempt to develop a notion of rationality which is linked to the improvement of existing knowledge and social practices. In the case of the latter two theories, just how they attempt to do this differs quite fundamentally. On the one hand the structuralists, following an Althusserian interpretation of Marx and combining it with elements of post-empiricist philosophy of science, focus unduly on knowledge structures at the expense of the active knowing subject (or groups of subjects). On the other, the sociology of knowledge theorists focus on constructed social realities and knowledge systems to accentuate the role of the active knowing subject in a way that overestimates the power of the individual in the face of institutional and structural constraints on the production and reproduction of knowledge. While both theories want to acknowledge the developmental and dynamic quality of rationality, ultimately, they both fail to provide any criterion of relative progressiveness. This chapter is essentially a series of three critiques followed by the attempt to advocate a Wittgensteinian-inspired research programme. First, I consider Hirst’s theory; second, I look more closely at the views propounded by Harris and Matthews; third, I examine the position advocated by Young and his associates; and, finally, I attempt to effect the lines of a possible reconciliation between the structuralist and sociology of knowledge positions by recourse to the “Wittgensteinian” programme that I favour. The so-called “London school” had two main strands to it—an ethical and social line of argument provided by Peters and an epistemological one provided by Hirst. The latter line attempts to develop a view of knowledge from which a “liberal” curriculum can be “derived”, and it is with articulating and examining this view of knowledge that I am primarily concerned, rather than with the more specific implications that are said to follow for the curriculum. Hirst’s view was originally outlined in his 1965 paper, “Liberal education and the nature of knowledge”. This view has been subsequently modified, and I shall refer to his more recent collection of writings (Hirst 1974) in which the original paper has been included. Hirst sets out to defend a positive concept of a liberal education as one that is based fairly and squarely on the nature of knowledge itself (1974, p. 54). To become educated, according to Hirst, is literally to acquire a mind and to acquire a mind is to become initiated into the forms of knowledge which, so it turns out, are close to the traditional disciplines that have already demonstrated their fecundity.

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Here we have a theory about the nature and development of rationality (i.e., mind) that seeks to draw a logical or conceptual connection between the nature and structure of knowledge, and that of a liberal education and curriculum, allegedly on the basis of a neutral second-order analysis. Underlying this thesis is an analytic theory of knowledge which apparently accomplishes the task of tying up a number of related doctrines. First, there is the meaningknowledge relation, that questions of knowledge are best reformulated in terms of a theory of meaning. Second, and more explicitly, there is the “forms of knowledge” thesis and the conclusions about the curriculum that are said to follow. Third, as a consequence of the underlying theory of knowledge, there is the doctrine concerning the foundational role and the special status of philosophy as a second-order activity. Finally, at the more general level, is a doctrine concerning the nature of rationality itself: that rationality is to be seen as the acquisition of the forms of knowledge, anchored in the demands for intelligibility and objectivity (p. 93). We can consider these strands in Hirst’s epistemology briefly here. Hirst wants to argue that there is a logical or conceptual relation between the terms “meaning” and “knowledge” and the connecting link, so it seems, is the notion of criteria for the application of concepts. Such criteria, we are told, are the truth criteria for propositions or statements in which these concepts are applied (pp. 65 and 89–90). At one point, Hirst clearly states this identification: “There is no suggestion that truth is being put before meaning, the criteria for truth are the criteria for meaning” (p. 67). Further, it seems that Hirst regards truth criteria as a necessary feature of knowledge in all its forms—as constituting the shared basis for meaning which enables us to reach agreement over what counts as an objective judgement (p. 43). It is clear, further, and Hirst at one point admits as much that he embraces some version of the correspondence theory of truth (p. 82) which to him necessarily implies a fundamental distinction in our language between language and experience—between “thoughts, concepts and propositions on the one hand and that to which they are applied on the other…” (p. 94). The notion of objectivity, in other words, is conceived of as being built into the very nature of intelligibility and sense (pp. 93–94). Even at this stage it is clear that Hirst has been unduly influenced by the positivist conception of scientific knowledge which he extracts from the different forms or types of knowledge to hold up as the paradigm not only of knowledge, but rationality itself. It is only with his sharp separation between language and experience, in later expounding the distinguishing criteria of the forms of knowledge, that he can get his “verificationist” thesis going—where each form is said to have tests for determining the truth of statements against experience. The forms of knowledge all approximate to this positivist model. Thus, he talks of the importance of public criteria, based on the distinctions between “good” and “bad”, and “right” and “wrong” which enable us to make objective judgements in morality and aesthetics (p. 43). Hirst’s “verificationism” may be bought out also by his references to the way he views science. In talking of truth tests generally he tells us that such tests are best exemplified by the tests of observation in the sciences. They provide the model on which he wishes to develop his case. He further suggests that science is “…

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necessarily committed to a concern for truth” and such truth “is determined strictly by empirical observation and experiment” (1974, p. 167). Recent work in philosophy of science demonstrates that the meanings of scientific terms and statements are determined, in part, by their logical relations with other terms and statements within a theory. In other words, statements can never be tested successfully in isolation. Such work, further, leads us to doubt both the role Hirst assigns to observation and the fundamental importance he attributes to the notion of truth by correspondence. Thus, far from being neutral, Hirst’s account of rationality in science, is, in actuality, in competition with other accounts. In the next chapter, I provide an account of the historicist turn in philosophy of science. It enables us to judge more fully whether Hirstian science is rational according to current standards. The sketch I present shows contra Hirst that the notions of knowledge, rationality, objectivity and truth have been treated very differently by different philosophers and that there is considerable disagreement over what is thought to count as the appropriate criteria for assessing competing knowledge claims and theories. The overall shape of his “linguistic” argument which implicitly holds that questions of knowledge are best reformulated within a theory of meaning is summed up in a longish passage that captures the vital ingredients: all aspects of meaning necessitate the use of concepts and it is only by virtue of conceptualization that there is anything that we can call meaning at all. And no concepts can be the basis of shared meaning without criteria for their application. But the criteria for the application of a concept, say ‘x’, simply are the criteria for the truth of statements that say that something is an ‘x’. By this chain of relations, that meaning necessitates concepts, that concepts necessitate the criteria of application and that criteria of application are truth criteria for propositions or statements, the notions of meaning and true propositions, and therefore, meaning and knowledge, are logically connected. (p. 64)

This analytic theory of knowledge is thus built upon the primitive notion of “concept”, and the elemental importance of concepts and the role they play in our “forms of life”. The theory of meaning Hirst articulates here provides a basis for the logical priority of conceptual investigation, and indirectly gives support to the conception of the method of conceptual analysis which both serves to characterize a particular conception of philosophy of education, and provides the means for Hirst to arrive at his theory of meaning in the first place. The starting point for Hirst’s enterprise is thus a particular conception of philosophy of education, centring around a method of conceptual analysis, which once employed by Hirst in the interests of neutrality and clarity, enables him to arrive at a theory of meaning. The theory of meaning, in turn is equated with a theory of knowledge via the identification of criteria for the application of a concept with truth criteria for statements, and the theory of knowledge reinforces the initial conception of philosophy of education and of philosophical method with which Hirst begins. When this illicit circularity is recognized, the whole package will begin to fall apart once the method, and the conception of philosophy of education it embraces, can be shown to be inadequate. All experience, Hirst argues, is concept-mediated indeed, “the possibility of discriminating elements in our experience at all necessitates having concepts” (p. 23).

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The implication that follows is that all knowledge is concept-mediated. All knowledge, that is, except knowledge of concepts, for given the method of analysis that Hirst subscribes to, knowledge of concepts may by gained in neutral fashion, unmediated even by our concept of concepts, or our concept of method. This curious and contradictory feature seems to rest on the alleged second-order nature of philosophy which permits the philosopher an unwarranted autonomy in conceptual investigation. Concepts are said to form distinctive networks of relationships, i.e., the various conceptual schemata of which, with their objectification, refinement and differentiation over time, have become the forms of knowledge as we now know them. “The forms of knowledge are thus the basic articulations whereby the whole of experience has become intelligible to man, they are the fundamental achievement of mind” (p. 40). There is a tension between the historical thesis which asserts the evolution and progressive differentiation of the forms of knowledge with their distinctive conceptual structures that, accordingly, must have also evolved, and the strict ahistoricism of the method of analysis Hirst espouses which implicitly denies that concepts have a history, or are subject to such change. This is the central contradiction on which Hirst’s argument rests. On the very basis of an ahistorical method of analysis taken to characterize the nature of philosophical inquiry (and a feature supposedly arrived at on the basis of the argument Hirst is presenting), Hirst elaborates the historical thesis concerning the evolution of the forms of knowledge, including, one would suppose, philosophy. The historical story he is required to hold thus vitiates his own ahistoricism shown in a method which is allegedly autonomous and therefore free from presuppositions! In this “linguistic context” the dilemma of epistemology once again raises its head. Recall Hegel’s injunction against Kant’s critical enterprise (see p. 55); “the examination of knowledge can only be carried out by an act of knowledge”. Hirst uses the notion of neutrality falsely attributed to a method of linguistic analysis to attempt to obviate this problem. But clearly an act of knowledge is still required in his examination of the forms of knowledge, for Hirst initially required to know what method to adopt in order to begin his argument. Yet this “knowledge”—the knowledge of method—is not recognized as such. Rather it is smuggled in as part of a doctrine of autonomy and neutrality which allegedly grants the analyst an epistemic privilege to carry out the inquiry without the necessity of facing questions concerning the legitimacy or adequacy of the instruments of knowledge adopted. Let us now consider in more detail the actual forms of knowledge thesis. Hirst originally proposes four independent criteria by which it is possible to show that the domain of knowledge can be seen to be differentiated into seven, logically distinct and mutually irreducible forms (p. 84). Each form is uniquely characterized by: (1) a distinctive body of central concepts; (2) a distinctive conceptual structure which exhibits the logical interrelations between such concepts; (3) distinctive truth tests or criteria; and (4) a distinctive methodology. Hirst, then, identifies seven forms of knowledge allegedly in accordance with these criteria: mathematics, the physical sciences, the human sciences, history, religion, literature and the fine arts, and finally, of course, philosophy.

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The actual details of Hirst’s original thesis have undergone considerable change since its inception. He has modified and refined his thesis, partly in response to the criticisms that have been made of it. Later, for example, in tandem with Peters (1970), Hirst draws up a list of the forms that differs from the original in a number of important respects. For instance, he groups history together with the social sciences of psychology and sociology under the head of awareness and understanding of our own and other people’s minds. In a later essay “The Forms of Knowledge Revisited” (1974), Hirst shortens the list to six as opposed to seven forms. However, Hirst maintains that though there may be changes in detail these do not threaten the general thesis, and it is important to note that in drawing our attention to the forms of knowledge there actually are, he allows for the possibility that other forms may yet emerge. Within the philosophy of education there has been much criticism and discussion of Hirst’s thesis. Some have questioned the classifications, especially of literature, art, religion and morality as forms of knowledge (Gribble 1970; Watt 1974; Barrow 1976). Gribble (1970), for instance, attempts to show that while literary criticism— not one of the items on Hirst’s list—exhibits all the features which Hirst demands of a form of knowledge, literature does not.1 Still others have argued that Hirst’s list of forms is incomplete and sought the inclusion of other items—for example, of common sense (White 1973). Still others have disputed the criteria Hirst puts up to distinguish the various forms. Phillips (1971) calls attention to the need for an independent specification of the forms. He holds that Hirst must break through the circularity of his argument and establish that the four distinguishing criteria actually do distinguish the seven forms he identifies. Evers and Walker (1982) go several steps further to question the whole conception of knowledge as forms or as “partitioned sets”. On logical, semantical and epistemological grounds they argue that no independent specification can be given to the forms; that, in particular, that there is no appropriate reading to be given of a relation (R), defined on a set (S), such that R partitions S into disjoint subsets (i.e., the forms of knowledge). Against any form of epistemic fragmentation they urge the adoption of a holistic materialism which, they believe accounts for Hirstian errors and preserves the unity of knowledge. To be sure, Hirst is led to the analysis that there are logically, mutually irreducible forms by holding that questions of the meaning of propositions are questions of the truth criteria of propositions (1974, p. 88), and yet on some non-Hirstian theories of meaning there is a perfectly justifiable sense by which talk of meaning does not necessitate talk of truth criteria. On Wittgenstein’s account of ordinary language there is no necessary recourse to truth criteria in order to understand the meanings of propositions. In fact, Wittgenstein clearly rejects the notion of truth criteria in his later work (see Chapter 1, Sect. (c)). So what starts out as a Wittgensteinian thesis, with an emphasis on the forms of knowledge and peculiar norms of rationality internal to each form, ends up flying in the face of its original inspiration. 1 See

Hirst’s (1974) reply to Gribble, Chapter 10.

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Even if we follow such philosophers as Quine (1960), Davidson (1975), Putnam (1977), and Rorty (1980), and regard truth as an intra-theoretic feature of sentences, Hirst is denied the notion of truth criteria to distinguish his forms. Clearly, the issue depends to a large extent on the theory of meaning adopted. If this be granted, then we might view the positivist analogy Hirst tries to set up between propositions in science and their alleged equivalents in religion, art or morality as a problem in theory-choice among theories purporting to give an account of meaning. To do this, however, is to cast doubt immediately on Hirst’s analysis, for the privileged neutrality accompanying his view of philosophical method disappears in the face of competitor theories and we are forced to see his account as merely one among many. Hirst has come in for more general criticism. Thus, Walkling (1979), having canvassed the alternative possible accounts that might be given of the necessity involved in holding that the forms of knowledge are necessary for rational thought, attempts to show that each is impossible of demonstration. Others too have questioned Hirst’s use of transcendental arguments to justify a liberal education by reference to Korner’s (1967) demonstration of the impossibility of transcendental deductions (Watt 1974; Wellington 1981). In this regard it is interesting to view the efforts of Brent (1978) who has taken Hirst to task for claiming that the forms can change, and proposed a transcendental argument to show that any truth assertion presupposes the forms and the forms only. His arguments can be seen to fail at each of its three vital stages: the claim that the forms presuppose the general principles of logic; the metaphysical exposition of the forms; and the transcendental deduction (see Marshall et al. 1981a). The internal criticisms raised against Hirst’s forms of knowledge thesis are far too numerous to be reviewed in depth here. Those mentioned above do, however, indicate the controversy both that surrounds Hirst’s conclusions, and the implications for the curriculum that are said to follow. What is essential to this critique of Hirst is not so much the classifications of the forms of knowledge in general, as the account he presents of one of them—philosophy—and the way in which this account both guides and forms a major part of his underlying theory of knowledge. Philosophy, he tells us is “concerned with the clarification of concepts and propositions through which our experience and activities are intelligible” (1974, p. 1). Thus, philosophy as a second-order form of knowledge seeks to understand the rational bases of the other forms of knowledge and is, therefore, accorded a special status as the subject which presides over the other disciplines. Clearly, both the analysis of the relation between meaning and knowledge, and the forms of knowledge thesis itself, rest on a particular conception of philosophy and of philosophical method. Questions about the nature of philosophy and of philosophical method are the logically preliminary questions to all others in Hirst’s system. Only if it can be shown, for instance, that philosophy is a neutral, presuppositionless, secondorder activity or that through conceptual analysis philosophy can clarify and make explicit the necessary features of our primary forms of understanding and awareness, are we in a position to freely contemplate the “truth” of the conclusions that proceed from such an account. Only if we are prepared to grant the validity of Hirst’s guiding

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view of philosophy and its method, are we likely to concede him the philosophical “truths” he has arrived at. If, on the other hand, both the conception of philosophy and of method can be shown to be seriously open to doubt, then this would cast considerable doubt on both the way Hirst wishes to construe the meaning-knowledge relation, and the forms of knowledge thesis. My strategy, as must be apparent from what has gone before, lies with the latter course. Far from being a “neutral” epistemology arrived at through considerations of meaning, the analytic theory of knowledge advanced by Hirst and supported by Peters, depends on a certain guiding view of philosophy which, in turn, presupposes the truth of certain substantive epistemological theses concerning the nature and method of philosophy of education. Both Hirst and Peters promote a particular view of knowledge and rationality on the basis of an allegedly neutral, second-order analysis. The view itself and the method of arriving at it are open to question. As I have dealt at some length with the methodological inadequacies of the analytic paradigm in the previous chapter I shall not repeat such criticisms here, but will assume that they have an application in this context. Suffice it to say that Hirst uses an allegedly neutral epistemology derived from considerations of meaning both to smuggle in a view of educational reality and how we come to know it, and to disguise the value-laden nature of his claims concerning the nature and structure of the curriculum. For Hirst, as Soltis (1981) points out, the forms of knowledge “embody what it means to be rational and to know” (p. 105). It is a conceptual thesis, arrived at through a conceptual investigation. Yet we have previously seen that other analyses of knowledge are possible. Indeed, philosophers have proposed a varying range of different concepts of knowledge embodying a number of competing distinctions. There is, then, a diversity of concepts of knowledge. Further, Hirst’s own analysis is selective in that it emphasizes some aspects of knowledge over others. For instance, although he makes it clear that he is dealing with propositional knowledge (1974, pp. 58 and 85) and claims that his analysis embraces common sense and technical knowledge (p. 90), Hirst ignores procedural knowledge or “knowledge how”. It might be argued that he also ignores personal and tacit knowledge (Polanyi 1958, 1964). In terms of the rhetoric espoused about method it is difficult to know how either the diversity of concepts of knowledge, or grounds for a revised analysis (for Hirst later collapses the number of distinguishing criteria from four to three) could come about. Given Hirst’s own selective analysis, and diverse, competing analyses, how are we to decide between them? On Hirst’s account this possible problem is not even recognized, and it is clear that no solution to the problem is possible on Hirst’s account of method. It is not surprising to hear the call for a new paradigm for liberal education (Martin 1981). Finally, let us briefly address ourselves to the doctrine concerning the nature of rationality itself. Hirst offers us a general account of rationality in terms of the acquisition of the forms of knowledge. In this account the notion of rationality is unpacked in terms of the necessary features of knowledge-intelligibility and objectivity. In other

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words, in order for a claim to count as rational it must satisfy two general conditions: it must be intelligible under publicly rooted concepts and it must be assessable according to accepted criteria. Hirst (1974) expresses this point quite simply. “Intelligibility in public language and objectivity of judgement would seem to be the demands of reason” (p. 93). Both of these conditions, so it seems, presuppose the notion of truth. We have already seen how Hirst makes this connection. For him criteria for the application of concepts simply are the truth criteria for the range of propositions or statements in which these concepts figure. He further asserts that “the notion of truth is centrally a demand for objective judgement” (p. 82) and that the notion of objectivity is built into the notion of intelligibility (p. 93). The concepts of rationality and knowledge, then, are unpacked in terms of the notion of truth. The apparent upshot of Hirst’s strategy of arriving at a neutral concept of rationality simply on the basis of considerations of meaning, is to make his case impregnable and any criticism of it redundant, for if the criteria for meaning and truth are identical as Hirst holds, and if the notion of rationality has been arrived at neutrally through a consideration of its meaning, then such an analysis itself looks as though it necessarily carries an automatic guarantee for “truth”. So Hirst has seemingly contrived an in-built set of epistemological defences— apparent consequences of the method he adopts—to defend the claim that conceptual structures immanent in the forms of knowledge are necessary for the exercise of rational thought. As we have seen, however, the strategy and defences fall apart upon an examination of the method. To end this critique, I want to mention some general features of Hirst’s account that I believe are positive and helpful to an understanding of rationality. First, Hirst adopts a “linguistic approach” to the study of rationality, and while this gives precedence to rationality of belief—to a propositional sense of rationality—over rationality of action or behaviour and thereby sets up the false dichotomy between theory and practice there is no doubt that the linguistic frame of reference is crucial, and appropriate to a philosophical study of rationality. Certainly, work in the philosophy of language has taught us how language is both embedded in practices and shaped by intersubjective constitutive rules. It has also made us aware of the extent to which our linguistic practices and institutions condition social and political reality. But if we wish to fully understand this reality in order to change it, we can no longer hold to a distinction which attempts to radically separate out the linguistic practices constitutive of such reality from so-called “descriptions” of these practices. Both are operative in our conceptions of the way the world is and should be. Second, Hirst stresses the notion that we learn to be rational. This also is a crucial feature and although he wishes to tie such mastery to the acquisition of the forms of knowledge, he allows for the possibility that we may yet learn to be more rational. In rejecting the forms of knowledge thesis we need not reject this historical understanding of rationality, for nothing short of an historical understanding—which itself admits of philosophical analysis—of the processes of change, both in the dialectic of theory and practice, belief and action, will enable us to make social and epistemic progress.

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Finally, Hirst’s thesis that the norms of rationality are internal to the forms of knowledge, though it vitiates his general account of criteria that are “the demands of reason” might caution us against the temptation to extract one “form” of knowledge or life to treat it as the paradigm of rationality-the standard by which all systems of belief and social action might be judged once and for all.

(b) The Marxist Critique of Analytic Philosophy of Education and the “Knowledge as Production” Thesis Within the philosophy of education, but outside and in competition with the dominant analytic school, an alternative paradigm has begun to emerge. It is a particular structuralist brand of Marxism that originates in the work of Bachelard and Althusser, and thus, although it falls within what can be loosely termed a Marxist approach it is in competition with other brands of Marxism advocated in the study of education, such as the humanist variety embraced by Bowles and Gintis (1976).2 The structuralist view has been strongly argued for by both Harris (1979) and Matthews (1980), who have tended to concentrate on epistemological questions, although recently Harris (1982) has attempted to extend his Marxist analysis to a more detailed examination of the role and function of teachers under corporate capitalism. My main intention in this section is to examine the “knowledge as production” thesis, although I shall preface my comments here with a consideration of the main criticisms raised against the analytic paradigm by the Australian Marxists. In the first part I focus my attention on the critique of the analytic paradigm offered by Harris (1977, 1979, 1980), and, in the second, on the “knowledge as production” thesis offered by Matthews (1980).

The Marxist Critique of Analytic Philosophy of Education The Marxist critique of the analytic paradigm represents a series of challenges both to the conceptions of philosophy and philosophy of education embraced by analytic philosophers. These challenges are, in effect, an attack on the major presuppositions underlying the conception of philosophy of education as a detached, second-order, and autonomous activity able to produce normatively neutral analyses of fundamental educational concepts. The Marxists go beyond the criticisms raised against the limitations of conceptual analysis to claim that the analytic approach, in reality, is a value laden and inherently conservative philosophical position which reflects the liberal 2 Bowles and Gintis (1980) appeal to Wittgenstein in the analysis of liberal discourse: “ … we must

reject the notion that terms of discourse have ‘meanings’ in favour of the more operational notion of their having concrete social uses and specific ranges of application determined by modifiable social convent ions” (pp. 60–61; see also Footnote 10, p. 65).

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values of the ruling class and serves to maintain the status quo. To them, the pretence of a value-free philosophy is just another exercise designed by analytic philosophers of education to maintain their epistemic privilege and elitism, while disguising the real ideological nature of their claims—which, taken together, actually represent the moral and political stance of liberalism. Accordingly, the strongest criticism is directed at a conception of philosophy of education which is based on the fact-value distinction. For the Marxists there is no genuinely value-free philosophy? All investigations are influenced by the valueladen theoretical viewpoint of the investigator, and of the object under investigation. In particular, as education is a deliberate social process which takes place within a particular society it is a political matter, and philosophy of education, therefore has a distinct and necessary political nature. Something more than this is necessary to establish that education is necessarily a political activity for it does not follow that the study of a political process is necessarily political just as the study of a sexual process is, itself, not necessarily sexual. Given this nature of their discipline, the Marxists argue that philosophers of education should, first, recognize the theoretical and value implications of their own perspective and, second, attempt to establish for themselves a position of critical preference—that is “a theoretical perspective which can be shown to account for the world better than its preceding or contemporary rivals can” (Harris 1980, p. 32). Having canvassed the general position I shall now look more closely at the arguments employed to sustain it, Harris’ (1979) critique of the analytic paradigm is framed within a notion of ideology. He wants to argue that conceptual analysis as practised by Scheffler. Peters and their colleagues are not the detached, neutral and second-order investigation it purports to be. Rather, in practicing analysis, Harris maintains, they have gone beyond purely linguistic considerations into the realms of ideology without realizing it: “Both Scheffler and Peters… can be shown to hold education theories that are implicit in, and that in subtle ways, shape their philosophical inquiries” (p. 105). Harris claims that Peters’ view of the nature and function of philosophy: leaves him with an ideological blind-spot which can only lead to theoretical distortion, mislead educators and compromise the cause of the rational practice of educational theory espoused by Peters, and his colleagues. (p. 106)

However, Harris’ critique in Education and Knowledge (1979) is not based on a close examination of either Peters’ work or the tenets of ordinary language analysis which he has covered else where (see Harris 1977). Rather the weight of his argument in this instance falls on an analysis of “ideology”, and on a neo-Marxist epistemology. As the account he offers of “ideology”, is, as Harris (1982) himself admits, somewhat inconsistent—at times, for example, he argues that the ideology/science distinction can be maintained, and at other times that it can not—it might be thought that his arguments against Peters fail to find their mark. What warrant, it could be asked, is there for attributing to Peters “the received view of the ruling class” (p. 80) on the basis of an examination of a couple of sentences, and a deficient notion of ideology?

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Harris’ critique however, is strengthened and further developed in a later paper (1980) where he both attempts to substantiate his claims by closer reference to the work of Peters, and advances an argument which does not depend on an account of ideology. Harris (1980) first reviews the developments that have taken place in the philosophy of education after the “revolution”, and then, seizing on the metaphor of the “detached spectator” which has its origin in the nature of philosophy as a second-order discipline, he proceeds to argue that the analogy is an “idealist fiction”, and one that has a “unique inappropriateness” to the philosophy of education. It is instructive to examine the steps of his argument. He begins from the position that all investigations are theory that there is no such thing as a “theory-free” option a position which is strongly argued for in Education and Knowledge (see Chapters 1 and 2) and, therefore taken as given in the present context. The force of his argument there depends upon a concerted attack on the notion of “the given” (1979, pp. 6ff.). Without the notion of “given non-theoretical knowledge we are left simply and necessarily with concepts”. Yet the concept of any object under investigation is always theory-determined such that: a fact—a knowledge statement (say, about the number of people on an oval)—is not a neutral description of what ‘is’, but rather something that has been established as such by theory, (i.e., what counts as a ‘person’, ‘oval’, etc.), and methodology together, and which is also vulnerable to the effects of contingencies and motives. (ibid., p. 17)

On the basis of the theory-laden thesis, Harris (1980) goes a step further to claim that “naming anything at any time necessarily entails a value-judgement”, although he adds “this is not to say… that all instances of ‘naming’ would be equally valueladen” (p. 26). Harris produces a distinction between two sorts of “naming” to make this point. Theories as to what science and cricket are automatically mark out at the same time what science and cricket are not. But things which science and cricket are not fall into two categories. On the one hand there are those things which are specifically distinctive; such that soccer or ballet or bicycle riding tend not to be counted as cricket: while on the other hand there are ‘corruptions’, which may or may not be taken as ‘measuring up’; such that vigaro, limited-over match or the Packer variations might be considered to be just not cricket. We see, therefore, that to name something ‘science’ or ‘cricket’ (or anything) to differentiate it from that which it is clearly not—this being largely (although not necessarily) a value-free exercise—and at the same time to differentiate it from ‘corruptions’ which we wouldn’t honour with the name—this latter being a distinctly value-laden normative exercise. (pp. 25–26)

An ordinary spectator generally “names” in the first sense and does not tend to confuse cricket with soccer for he does so in terms of clear definitions and precise reference points. His/her “namings” are, accordingly, relatively value-free. However, with fields of theoretic production, such as philosophy, science and art, where there no such definitions or precise reference points to mark out the boundaries, to name something as science or philosophy is inevitably to make a value judgement, and this is so especially when the decision to name something science or philosophy is made “in terms of differentiating fields from ‘corruptions’ or ‘lower forms’ or ‘less worthy’ productions” (p. 26).

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It is against this theory of naming that we are asked to view the allegedly detached statements of Peters who argues that activities like science, philosophy and art are worthwhile in themselves. If there is no such thing as an atheoretical position from which to view anything, and if our theoretical perspective inevitably involves value judgements—at least to the extent of determining what we count as relevant or valuable—then we must view with great suspicion philosophers who claim to be atheoretical asocial and ahistorical in their investigations. Further, if we accept that a spectator is, at the very least, not participating in the activity he is observing, then “even this much does not hold for philosophy of education” for philosophers of education are “a very part of the educational process, than being detached from education they are, involved in it” (p. 30). It is on the basis argument that Harris develops the point that philosophy of education has “a distinct and necessary political nature about it” (p. 33). While Harris’ (1980) paper presents a philosophically interesting position there are points at which his overall theory seems to be on shaky ground. While his theoryladen thesis is well argued, and now considered an unexceptionable position, his theory of naming is much less convincing. Presented with this theory, including the finely made distinction between two sorts of naming—which in its own terms, must entail value judgements—it is not clear what grounds there are for accepting it over and above other theories of naming. It seems that Harris need not have made the strong, and more general claim that naming necessarily involves value judgements in order to establish the more limited claim that value judgements are entailed by all attempts to distinguish between what counts as the genuine article and what counts as corruptions of it especially when considering such disciplines as science and philosophy. To be sure, there are those who have conceded “theory-ladenness” but strongly rejected Harris-type conclusions (e.g., Scheffler 1967). In view of these sorts of arguments Harris’ own conclusions hardly look convincing. Had he consulted the available philosophical literature on theory of reference and related issues he would have found strong arguments that favour the position he advocates. He would have done better, for instance, to follow arguments originally proposed by Quine (1960, Chapter 2; 1969), and reinforced by similar arguments put forward by Davidson (1974, 1975), Putnam (1977) and Rorty (1980) to the effect that reference is undetermined except as relativized to a chosen translation manual. Such arguments appear to entail that there is no theory-independent way the world is (see my discussion in Chapter 5). More generally, while the Marxist approach advocated by Harris and Matthews has served to raise valuable and important criticisms against the analytic paradigm as a neutral, value-free philosophy and while the relevance of their claims concerning the ideological nature of the liberal-analytic paradigm are peculiarly appropriate given present economic conditions, the overall progress of their version of an historical materialist research programme would seem to depend on resolving certain problems

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in the structuralist epistemology they adopt and on developing a more workable and coherent theory of ideology.3 Such a theory, if it is successfully to serve the requirements of a Marxist research programme, must be able to give an adequate account of the relation between science and ideology while at the same time it should explain how those who live under a particular ideology might be able to transcend it; and this must be done without invoking the sorts of distinctions that analytic philosophers have been criticized for employing. One promising line of research involves the rehabilitation of the concept of rhetoric from the pejorative use it has fallen into (Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca 1969; Perelmann 1982). A general theory of rhetoric in which a Wittgensteinian-type analysis of living language-games related to actual social purposes could be seen to have a place, might provide a useful basis for the discussion of values and types of discourse that harbour ideological commitments.4 Walker (1983b) poses another view based on the historical materialist theory of ideology in Marx’s Capital. His view can be succinctly summarized in his own words. We should approach both questions—how society is reproduced and how to change it—by first examining how human subjects actually learn their practices; next how they formulate the problems to which their practices give rise; and finally how they theorize deliberate and act with a view to solving the problems in their practice. To push this analysis along we need, to be more specific, a dialectical rather than a structural- functionalist account of how systems work. (p. 14)

Walker’s alternative depends upon the much larger epistemological programme that he, in conjunction with Evers, is currently developing—called “materialist pragmatism”. It is an attempt to work out a project of historical materialism through a Quinean logic and epistemology, which takes the notion of theory as the main unit of analysis and embraces a theory competition methodology (see Walker 1983a, pp. 23–41).

The Knowledge as Production Thesis Michael Matthews (1980) has recently advanced a Marxist epistemology which trades heavily on an analogy with commodity production in Capital. It is a philosophically interesting idea in its own right but it has an added significance for the philosophy of education in that the epistemoligical package he advocates and argues for is meant to be seen as a challenge to the Hirstian analytic theory of knowledge while at the same time providing an underpinning to the burgeoning radical critiques of mass schooling in capitalist society. Matthews’ approach is an attempt to marry ingredients from two major philosophical traditions: that of science on the one hand, and that of Marxism on the 3 See

Snook’s (1982) attack on Harris (1979, 1982) reply. at the University of Utah, Salt Lake City, adopts a line very close to this in his recent Ph.D. thesis (communication with Denis Phillips). See also Leff (1978) and Brown (1983).

4 Burbules

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other. Thus, following now common place arguments in contemporary philosophy of science, Matthews rejects the major tenets of empiricism, and borrowing from the tradition of Marxist philosophy he emphasizes a conception of knowledge as a socio-historical product. He ultimately appeals to Lakatosian criteria of rationality to differentiate a degenerating analytic research programme in education from a progressive Marxist one. I am concerned to examine the Marxist conception of knowledge as theoretic production from within the Marxist tradition; encouraged by Matthews’ own avowed catholicity that I might be able to bring to bear on the discussion on opposing viewpoint which may, in true dialectical fashion, result in a stronger synthesis. Elsewhere, in a review of Matthew’s 1980 The Marxist Theory of Schooling (Peters 1982), I pointed to the apparent circularity of appealing to Marxist-modified Lakatosian criteria of rationality to vindicate the choice of a Marxist research programme over an analytic one. While remaining sympathetic to his endeavour I attempted to raise some criticisms concerning his appraisal and commitment to a Lakatosian meta-methodology. Matthews’ epistemology is heavily influenced by the work of Suchting (see Suchting and Curthoys 1977) and both Suchting and Matthews have closely followed the structural formalism of Althusser (1969; Althusser and Balibar 1970). The reading of Marx on which Matthews bases his account is accordingly both anti-empiricist and anti-humanist. First, I briefly recount Matthews’ interpretation of the knowledge as production thesis. Second, I relate this interpretation to Althusser’s, in order to bring out some of the essential features of the Althusserian position and thus provide a wider context for examining Matthews’ claims. Third, I advance and consider a number of criticisms raised against the Althusserian position. Most of these originate with the inherent antihumanism and idealism of the knowledge as production thesis. Matthews’ (1980) proposal is based on Marx’s belief that the analysis of commodity production in Capital is applicable to mental production, that is, as Matthews explains, “the terms, concepts and scheme of the first can be used to explicate production of ideas and theories in society”. He adds optimistically: “If this is successful then we have a new model for epistemological discussion; a model which will overcome many of the problems which plague standard epistemology” (p. 97). The strengths of this account are thought to lie in the fact that such an epistemology will be both materialist and historical. Accordingly, Matthews begins his account by applying Marx’s analysis of manual labour (based on Aristotle’s fourfold division of causality) to intellectual production. The application can best be appreciated in terms of the following scheme (Table 4.1). The major connecting concepts on which the analogy trades are those of practice and work. Scientists, “like artisans”, work on their raw materials (i.e., observations, concepts etc.) to transform them through use of certain techniques and by dint of scientific labour, into new products (i.e., theories) in accordance with certain goals. Matthews reminds us, that with any scientific study of production, Marx was insistent both that “production” has to be treated in historical terms (not as a general category), and that are the “technologies and instruments of production available are the central

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Table 4.1 Knowledge as production Production Cause

Manual

Intellectual

Material

Raw materials & objects of labour

Observations, experimental results, concepts, laws, problems

Efficient

Technology, labour power

Technologies, instruments, methods, scientific labour—the problematic

Formal

Commodity, use values

Higher laws, new concepts, theories.

Final

Schemes, plans, designs

Mastery of situations, fulfilment of needs, goals and plans of procedure

(Compiled from pp. 98–99)

determining forces for shaping the form of the productive process”. Further, he adds that “any account of material production will need to incorporate details of the patterns of ownership and control which operate in the productive process” (p. 99). Given these caveats, Matthews begins to explore the limitations of the analogy. In line with his anti-empiricism, Matthews draws the Althusserian distinction between the real object of science, (objects and events in the world) and the theoretical object of science (formulae, descriptions, observations). This difference is crucial for, “Knowledge construction begins with the latter and ends in the construction of a new theoretical object” (p. 100). Not only does empiricism incorrectly conflate this distinction, but guided by a correspondence version of truth, it wrongly construes the relationship between them, for, according to Matthews interpretation, science (i.e., theory) relates to the real world not in terms of simple correspondence, but rather in terms of utility. He maintains that the relationship is “one of control, effectivity, manipulation. The truth of the theoretical object is its power and instrumentality” (p. 103). Next, Matthews turns to a closer investigation of the process of simplification and abstraction in science by reference to Marx’s “Method of Political Economy”, which Matthews interprets as further sanctioning the distinction between the real and the theoretical object of science. The ‘Method’ section is explicit about scientific knowledge being the effect, or product, of intellectual production. The raw materials for it are, observations and conceptions, and the products are new ‘concepts’… Science does not begin with real objects in the world but with intellectually constructed objects, with conceptions. The empiricist confrontation between a knowing subject and a real object is absent in Marx. (pp. 106–107)

If the knowing subject is extruded from theoretical production how then does Matthews account for the generation of new problems and solutions in science? His answer is given in terms of an Althusserian “problematic”—a term which encompasses, among other things, basic metaphysical and ontological commitments as well as directions about method and methodology. The problematic is the missing “machinery” which completes the picture: it is both objective in the sense that it is a social product which predates the individual’s thinking, and determining in the sense

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that it conditions the selection and specification of the problem, and the kinds of raw materials and productive activities that can be used. In classical Marxist terms, Matthews is attempting to argue that theoretical or intellectual products are determined by the mode of theoretical production. For Althusser, Marxist philosophy provides the “deepening” of dialectical materialism on which the theoretical future of historical materialism depends. Dialectical materialism is “the theory of theoretical practice” and as such both embodies an epistemology, and is clearly distinguishable from historical materialism—the science of social formation. It is important to bear in mind here that the early Althusser’s reading of Marx, and in particular his structuralism was, in part at least, an attempt to combat the Hegelian influence in orthodox Marxism, represented for example, in Stalin’s Dialectical and Historical Materialism (1973). While he rejects the a priori metaphysics of dialectical materialism, and the dialectical ontology it presupposes, he at the same time refuses to embrace the other pole— a purely materialist ontology which implies the primacy of matter. For Althusser, dialectical materialism is construed in epistemological terms. It is the doctrine that knowledge is of an independently existing reality, and it is founded on the “primacy of practice” (Althusser and Balibar 1970, p. 58). The notion of practice, as we have seen from Matthew’s adoption, is the process of transformation of a determinate raw material into a determinate product. Althusser distinguishes four different types of practice or modes of production those of theory, ideology, politics and economy.5 Although each practice has an homologous form each takes a different type of initial object. Further, these structures exhibit a relative autonomy from one another in the sense that they are determining as well as determined, although “in the last instance” it is still the economy which is determining.6 It is apparent, however, that the knowledges of both Marxist science and epistemology are, ultimately, located outside history altogether, and consequently also quite separate from the proletariat. Both of these consequences have led critics to seriously question Althusser’s Marxism on grounds of its idealism, and political elitism.7 How, then, does this idealism in Althusser’s structuralism come about? An answer to this question is fundamental to understanding not only the implications of Althusser’s position but also the later criticisms of it (and Matthews’ adoption) based on the near-elimination of the knowing subject. Dialectical materialism (i.e. “the theory of theoretical practice”) and the idealism that springs from it can best be appreciated as a reaction against empiricism, and 5 Glucksmann

(1977, pp. 282–314) criticizes Althusser’s fourfold classification of social reality as both arbitrary and empiricist. 6 Glucksmann (1977, pp. 282–314) criticizes Althusser’s fourfold classification of social reality as both arbitrary and empiricist. 7 See Geras (1977) and Glucksmann (1977). These criticisms have been recently reiterated in philosophy of education by Walker (1983b). He argues that Althusserian idealism leads to a split between theory and practice which not only entails the undesirable political consequence of elitism—where Marxist theory must by imported by intellectuals into the working class movement—but ultimately defeats the prospect of achieving epistemic and social progress.

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as thus attempting to overcome the traditional problems that plague empiricism. For Althusser, and the production theorists that follow him, the basic and mistaken aspect of the “problematic” of empiricism lies in the attempt to view knowledge as a relation between the beliefs of a subject (knower) on the one hand, and the real world (the object known) on the other. Empiricism, it is alleged employs a methodology for the pursuit and attainment of knowledge involving a body of prescriptive—universal and fixed—rules which will guarantee this relation of “correspondence”. From the point of view of the production theorists this problematic is misguided on a number of counts. First, it misconstrues the importance and role of the individual knowing subject, for against empiricism the production theorists assert that knowledge is the result of certain processes of theoretical production in which the subject, strictly speaking, plays no active role at all. Althusser’s “theoretical antihumanism” rejects the status of the knowing human subject as nothing other than a “bearer of structural relations”. The structure of the relation of production determines the places and functions occupied by the agents of production, who are never anything more than the occupants of these places… The true subjects are… the definition and the distribution of these places and functions. The true subjects are these definers and distributers; the relations of production, … But since these are ‘relations’ they cannot be thought within the category ‘subject’. (Althusser and Balibar 1970, p. 180)

Second, it is alleged that empiricism wrongly conflates the distinction between the theoretical object and the real object of science. This empiricist distinction allegedly leads to an equally false idealism or reductive materialism. By contrast, the production theorist affirms the existence of the real world, independently of thought, and distinguishes this “real object” from the “theoretical object” in a conception of scientific knowledge as a process of production “which takes place entirely within thought” (Althusser and Balibar 1970, p. 42). There is, then, an irreducible gap between thought (i e., theoretical practice) on the one hand and reality (i.e., the practices of ideology, politics and economics) on the other. Theoretical practice eventually achieves a cognitive grasp of reality by transforming the object of knowledge.8 That such knowledge is a product of the process of theoretical production presents no difficulties, but, as Althusser admits, exactly how such knowledge has produced a problem—one to which Althusser does not claim to offer a solution (see Althusser and Balibar 1970, p. 61). Thus, Althusser does not provide a description or explanation of the actual working mechanism by which science produces knowledge of reality. My criticisms fall into two categories. The first set are specifically directed against aspects of the knowledge as production thesis, and focus on its idealism, its antihumanism and its consequent inability to account for constructive change. The former inadequacy originates with the sharp separation between the theoretical and real object of science; and the latter, with the problems attendant on the near-elimination 8 Significantly,

Matthews (1980) deviates from Althusser here, for he, drawing on a pragmatism Althusser explicitly rejects, construes the relation between thought and reality—between the theoretical and the real object—in terms of utility.

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of the knowing subject (scientist), that is, the reduction of the subject in the knowledge process to that of a mere occupant within a structure. The second set of criticisms revolve around Matthews’ selective presentation of his position, which at the expense both of alternative Marxist epistemologies and of the complexity involved has tended to close off the debate in philosophy of education rather than open it up for discussion. Matthews presents in a mere sixteen pages the Althusserian core of his epistemology (1980, pp. 97–113), but he does so in a way which obscures the overall framework of Althusser’s programme while repeating its mistakes in spite of the convincing criticisms raised against the early Althusser and Althusser’s own reassessment and modification of his early work. While the first set of criticisms are dealt with directly, the second are implicit and emerge from a brief discussion of alternatives. Althusser’s idealism springs from the notion of practice, and his insistence that theoretical practice must have its own raw material and product which are distinct from reality. Given the primacy of practice, and its common essence revealed in his Marxist epistemology, Althusser is led to making a distinction between the theoretical and the real object, and to holding that takes place entirely within thought. A number of commentators have criticized Althusser on the basis of his idealism. Thus, Geras (1977) having commented that Althusser’s “failure to answer what is for him the real question gives his rejection [of empiricism] the mere status of a gesture”, continues: if he begins by affirming the universality of knowledge in its content he ends by denying the historicity of its conditions and processes of production; their autonomy has become quite simply absolute. (pp. 263–264)

Such idealism Geras traces through in Althusser’s account of ideology and its radical separation from science; in his failure to provide any account of what distinguishes Marxist science from other sciences; and perhaps most importantly, in its “last hideout”, the clear separation of Marxist theory from the working class movement—a criticism which ultimately becomes a charge of political and intellectual elitism. Callinicos (1976) arrives at a similar criticism—the impossibility of avoiding idealism—but from a consideration of the basic underlying ontology of practice: To assert the autonomy of theoretical practice without establishing the specific character of the relation it enjoys with the social whole, is to transform the sciences into an instance above and cut off from the social process. This unquestionably is the result of an epistemology according to which the relation of theory to the other social practices rests purely on their common structure and the preservation intact of this relation is the prerogative of a philosophy whose only relation beyond itself is with the sciences. (p. 77)

Glucksmann (1977) also concentrates his criticism of Althusser on the disguised but underlying ontology of practice. He claims that Althusser assumes a categorial correspondence between the practice of theoretical production on the one hand and that of the various historical productions on the other such that it guarantees the truth of the former and provides the “absolute reference point” for its object of knowledge. Althusser’s theory, then, is “ventriloquist”, because in it “the ostensible duality between knowledge and the real is a disguise: in the puppet of theory, only one

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voice speaks, the general conjuror of the world, the ‘common essence of production’” (p. 275). It is interesting to note here that the editors in an introduction to Glucksmann (1977) point out that his critique has never been answered in France, and that “a large number of key passages in Lire Le Capital cited by Gluckmann to drive home his attack were removed from the 1969 French edition (of which the English Reading Capital is a translation)” (pp. 279–280). Given that Marxist epistemology (itself theoretical) becomes “the theory of theoretical production” also determined by the elements of its own theoretical process,9 the knowledge as production thesis is self-stultifying. The inherent structuralism of the thesis confounds the possibility of and need for any independent assessment of it (or the grounds on which it rests) as the thought-creation of any one individual. In other words, the production theorist has contrived an epistemological defence against the possible falsity of his/her own thesis, in a sense, by disowning it, and requiring it to be true of the ways things are. Althusser is apparently aware of this problem and he seeks to overcome it by proposing a theory of reading which is based on an explicit rejection of an “innocent” reading of Marx and the complicity it assumes between subject and object—both features of the problematic of empiricism: that the precondition of a reading of Marx is a Marxist theory of the differential nature of theoretical formations and their history, that is a theory of epistemological history, which is Marxist philosophy itself; that this operation in itself constitutes an indispensable circle in which the application of Marxist theory to Marx himself appears to be the absolute precondition of an understanding of Marx and at the same time as the precondition even of the constitution and development of Marxist philosophy,… But the circle implied by this operation is, like all circles of this kind, simply the dialectical circle of the question asked of an object as to its nature on the basis of a theoretical problematic which in putting its object to the test puts itself to the test of its object. (Althusser 1969, pp. 38–39)

The hermeneutical problem, thus, returns Althusser to the notion of the problematic, and, in particular, to that of Marxism, Only if one already knows that knowledge is production—something which is part of the problematic of Marxism—is it possible to give the appropriate “symptomatic” readings of Marx which, in turn, locates the underlying structure of his thought. Althusser argues on the basis of his symptomatic reading, that there exists a radical break between the early Marx of the Manuscripts and the later Marx—a break representing a clear epistemological, separation between a science (based on the concepts of historical materialism, i.e., the relations and forces of production) and its humanist ideological predecessor. Althusser’s rejection of the early Marx as ideology with its humanist or anthropological problematic, then is the source of his theoretical anti-humanist bias (1969, p. 224). For Althusser, the later Marx’s greatest theoretical debt to Hegel is not a simple inversion of the dialectic, but the notion of history as a process without a subject—one powered

9 Matthews

(1980) unsuccessfully attempts to overcome this problem by invoking the allegedly self-reflexively consistent criteria of rationality proposed by Lakatos.

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by its own internal contradictions.10 Thus, the problematic in Marx’s philosophy is attributed to those functions normally assigned to the knowing subject in other epistemologies. The effect of this theoretical antihumanism is to eliminate the activity of the knowing subject in a way which precludes the possibility of constructive change. For in Althusser’s account it is structures themselves, without the aid of human agency, that lead to theoretical transformations. Yet, as we have seen Althusser does not give us a working explanation of the mechanism of the process. It should be noted that Althusser’s denial of an essence of humankind—part of the anthropological problematic of the early Marx—as Callinicos (1976) reminds us, is, however not an argument “that there is no such thing as the individual as such, but that each mode of production produces its own mode of individuality in accordance with its specific character” (p. 70). For Althusser (1969) the whole process takes place in the dialectical crisis of the mutation of a theoretical structure in which the subject ‘plays’ not the part it believes it is playing, but the part which is assigned to it by the mechanism of the process. Althusser’s (1969) account of ideology reflects a basic tension between the indispensable yet mystificatory role it plays in any society for, on the one hand, he maintains it plays an essential function in any society of accommodating individuals to the roles demanded of them—of “the way they live the relation between them and their conditions of existence”—and, on the other, he asserts its function in masking the real relations. “In ideology the real relation is inevitably invested in the imaginary relation, a relation that expresses a will (conservative, conformist, reformist or revolutionary), a hope or a nostalgia, rather than describing a reality” (p. 234). This is so because ideology though it does designate a set of existing relations, unlike science, it does not provide us with a means of knowing them. Humanism, then, is an ideological concept—one that operates by making “the man the principle of all theory” (p. 237)—and by using the category of subject such an ideology can adapt individuals to the roles demanded of them by society. Marx’s alleged epistemological break from his pre-1845 ideological humanism to his post-1845 anti-theoretical humanism is thus seen as Marx’s scientific discovery but of the actual mechanism whereby this break occurred we are left wondering. Althusser’s antihumanism fails on a number of counts. First, as we have seen, his epistemological programme is built upon the tacit assumption of the “common essence of production”—an outcome, in part, of his idealism—yet he does not acknowledge this underlying ontology let alone offer grounds for it. Why should we accept this ontology over one that is based on an “essence” of humankind? Even if we accept that the mode of production determines its own mode of individuality does it necessarily follow that there is nothing common between such modes? Althusser, for instance, wants to argue that there are different modes of production yet he assumes that there is a common essence.

10 Althusser proposes a notion of structural causality where a cause is immanent in the totality of its effects, in part, as an attempt to counter the notion of linear causality characteristic of empiricism, and thus avoid a predeterminism in history.

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Second, Althusser’s anti-humanist interpretation is inconsistent with the analogy he employs between theoretical and manual production. If the analogy is to hold, as Cohen (1980) points out, the former “must be involved in the reproduction of many similar units of theoretical production” for Marx’s analysis of commodity production under capitalism necessitates that many units be involved “for otherwise no labourercapitalist relations can exist”, yet the theoretical labourer is involved in producing “only one new theory as a result of his labour process activity”, Cohen suggests that the theoretical labourer more appropriately, should be compared to “the inventor of a single new product, the prototype of the new commodities which the labourer will reproduce for exchange or sale.” Cohen’s analogy is more convincing. Now, just as the invention of the prototype of a new material object (commodity) is an act of creation of something materially new (it serves new functions, satisfies new needs) so is the creation of a new theory from raw theoretical materials an act creation… Something new has been created for the first time, not out of nothing but through a dialectical recasting of the raw materials. This activity requires a thinking person, a subject. It cannot be accomplished by some routine ‘labour process’ for experience shows that the production of theories involves a complex of cognitive activities some of which may be said to constitute elements of general method and others of which are specific to the person involved, such as intuition, imagination, creativity. (pp. 128–129)

Althusser’s structuralism would seem to deny the scientific achievements of Galileo, Newton and Einstein as distinctly individual achievements not to mention those of Marx himself. Third, it is unclear what role if any the knowing subject has in bringing about either the transformation of an old problematic or the origination of a new one. If Althusser is to remain consistent in his structuralism he must also deny the role of agency of the knowing subject in this realm also. To do so is to rob structuralism of the possibility of accounting for constructive change initiated and carried out by the activity of a knowing agent. Fourth, and more generally, Althusser’s structuralism leads him to make a distinction that radically separates science and ideology, theory and practice, in a way that accords both philosophy and science a special epistemic authority. His “theoreticism” in science which is difficult to sustain in Marxist terms, accords philosophy (as the theory of theoretical production) the dubious status of an autonomous metatheory that performs the role of both underwriting the claims of Marxist science, and adjudicating on what counts as knowledge for ultimately, on this view, philosophy distinguishes science from non-science (i.e., ideology). Althusser’s epistemology, against the current historicist notions of philosophy and rationality, resurrects an absolutist philosophy that is prone to all the justificatory shortcomings inherent in such a conception. Further, his radical separation between science and ideology leads him to ignore the unity of theory and practice, or at least to provide a purely theoretical solution where in traditional historical-materialist terms theory and practice are part of the same organic unity. His analysis of the science/ideology distinction precludes the possibility that social interests or values may have any bearing on either how a theory develops or on its cognitive content and in the last instance, as Edgeley (1979) has

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commented, Althusser embraces “a familiar article of bourgeois philosophy” for he depicts science as descriptive and value-free, while ideology is seen as value laden (i.e., prescriptive) and practical (p. 17). It is interesting to note in passing that although Matthews (1980) also wants to preserve the science/ideology distinction he recognizes that the latter does impinge on the cognitive claims of science (p. 130), but having made this observation he offers no clear account of how the distinction might be maintained. Having sundered theory from practice, and science from ideology, Althusser’s structuralism has seemingly robbed both Marx of his individual insights, and his own structuralist theory of the motive power to explain real change, while reducing or obliterating the elements of personal intuition or creativity in theory construction. What is surely needed is an account which, while preserving aspects of the structuralism advocated by Althusser and his followers, recognizes the dialectical relation between science and ideology, theory and practice, and, at the same time, allows for the active contribution of the subject, at least at the epistemological level. To recognize the importance of the role of the knowing subject in the process of theory production is neither to deny the Marxist tenet that consciousness is necessarily and essentially social, nor is it to fall back on the traditional empiricist problematic. While it is true to say that orthodox empiricist epistemologies have interpreted the problem of knowledge as one of how the subject can arrive at truths or knowledge individually and thereby have neglected the social character and dimensions of knowledge and criteria of validity, it does not necessarily follow that, therefore, the subject has no role to play in the knowledge process. Indeed, the arguments of the later Wittgenstein (1953) and Chomsky (1976) outside the Marxist tradition, and those of Sartre (1976) and Habermas (1971a, b) within it, are designed, in part, to show how language and knowledge are fundamentally social, while preserving the “creativity” of the individual subject. The notion of a predominant philosophy—although in keeping with the tendency in Western Marxism to emphasize the philosophical component in Marxism is not matched in Marx’s own writings.11 There is a difficulty here for Marx’s conception of philosophy is not easy to establish clearly. Not only was it subject to change throughout the development of his thought, but also Marx presented little in the way of a detailed epistemology.12 Given this, philosophical efforts to “go beyond” Marx cannot be condemned out of hand, for it is important to regard Marxism as an open tradition. It is equally important, however, to consider the possible variety of philosophical positions and the extent to which they are both supportable by reference to the texts, and reconcilable with one another. Matthews, while avowing a catholicity, selectively presents a Marxist epistemology which avoids the complex issues within and objections to the brand of Marxism he has chosen to follow.

11 See

Anderson (1976). He argues that Western Marxism since the 1920s has been preoccupied with abstract and theoretical questions concerning philosophy and methodology, thus isolating itself from working class interests. 12 For a brief account of Marx’s conception of philosophy see McLennan (1981, pp. 38–44).

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(c) Young’s Epistemology: The Sociology of Knowledge Thesis Young’s work is but one approach in the sociology of education which attempts to establish a sociology of the curriculum, and it shares with a number of related approaches in the area (Bernstein 1975; Bourdieu and Passeron 1977) an emphasis on the curriculum—and, in particular, the management and organization of school knowledge—as part of the broader processes of cultural transmission and social reproduction. The “new directions” sociology has been subjected to intense criticism by both philosophers and sociologists. It has been argued, for instance, that the underlying relativist epistemology—an outcome of an emphasis on the social construction of reality—invalidates its basic claims; that the phenomenological perspective adopted by Young and his associates excludes a consideration of historical factors, while providing no basis for judgements of value concerning social constructions; and that the sociology of knowledge perspective is not central to an overall Marxist critique of schooling in capitalist society. I have chosen to consider Young’s work rather than that of his contemporaries for three main reasons. Firstly, ever since the publication of Knowledge and Control (1971), Young has consistently addressed himself to epistemological questions at both the micro and macro sociological levels. Secondly, in his writings he has confronted and criticized the claims advanced by analytic philosophers of education about the nature of knowledge in general, and the nature of school knowledge in particular. His criticisms have, in turn, been subjected to criticism by them. Thirdly, Young’s humanism, his emphasis on human agency and the possibilities of change within existing structures, while overly optimistic in ignoring other than conceptual constraints to political action, provides a useful counter balance to the antihumanism of the structuralist Marxists. There is no doubt that since Young’s early attempts to establish a sociology of the curriculum his views have undergone a transformation. Some indication of the evolution of his views, together with the self-criticisms and corrections, will provide a useful framework for a recounting and consideration of his views. In what immediately follows I am concerned to accurately present his ideas. The publication of an edited collection of essays, Knowledge and Control (including papers by both Bernstein and Bourdieu) heralded the “new directions” sociology which set out to establish a number of theoretical guidelines. Much of the early orientation was directed at the attempt to problematic what was allegedly taken for granted traditional structuralist-functionalist approach sociology of education. It… becomes the task of sociological inquiry to treat these categories [i.e., what Young refers to as the dominant legitimizing categories of science and reason] not as absolutes but as constructed realities realized in particular institutional contexts. Thus like the feudal, clerical and market dogmas of earlier centuries, the dogmas of rationality and science become open to enquiry; the necessary preliminary to conceiving of alternatives. (1971, p. 3)

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Young’s ‘Introduction’ is to be conceived as an attack on the “new absolutism” of science and reason underpinning the earlier approach in sociology. The general point Young is making is that the notion of absolute rationality evident in science serves to “eternalize” and legitimize categories made in its name and this protects them from empirical investigation. The initial formulation of his position gives a central place to the thesis that all knowledge is a social product or construction. It is, in part, this thesis that underlies his claim that the sociology of education is no longer to be seen as distinct from the sociology of knowledge. Knowledge, then, is to be treated “as neither absolute, nor arbitrary but as ‘available sets of meanings’, which in any context do not merely ‘emerge’, but are collectively ‘given’” (p. 3). The new sociology, Young argues, is historically bounded and, by focusing on actions rather than systems, it will be situationally specific so that explanations will be made in terms of given “available meanings”. The metatheory or doctrine of control espoused by Young thus tends to call our attention to the way in which sets of meanings are constructed and imposed, and researchers are accordingly directed “to explore how and why certain dominant categories persist and the nature of their possible links to sets of interests or activities such as occupational groupings” (p. 6). At this stage Young reiterates Mills’ argument that what we call “reasoning”, “being logical” and so on, are but models which embody shared sets of meanings as to what a good argument is, what is logical, valid etc., (p. 5). Young obviously accept Mills’ thesis that the absolutist model can be traced to “the traditions of a centralized intellectual elite with close links to those holding economic and political power” (p. 6). His “subversion of absolutism” is not untouched by Habermas critique of “objectivistic” science, or of scientism more generally (see footnote 11, p. 16). Such a position leads Young to identify himself with Horton (1970) in suggesting that we should treat participants explanations, whether they be African tribesmen, or Western teachers and pupils, as ways which to them make sense and order their world. The same reluctance in sociology to treat as problematic, hierarchical definitions of ability that are institutionalized in our curricula, is echoed in the reluctance of anthropologists to take their respondent’s ideas at face value as the explanations they claim to be.13 This attitude is the product of a set of unexamined assumptions about what it is “to explain, be scientific or be able”; it treats Western academic standards as absolutes (p. 7). Young comes close to espousing a notion of constitutive rationality as a methodological necessity in the “new directions” sociology, for “if the sociologist is able to suspend, in his enquiry, the taken for granted moral and intellectual absolutism of the teacher… then the phenomena of the classroom and the school can be studied for what they might mean to the participants (p. 7)”. Young’s opening paper on the study of curricula as socially organized knowledge then attempts to apply the more general “what counts as knowledge thesis”

13 This may appear somewhat naive and simplistic considering the sophisticated philosophical literature on the subject. See, for example, Wilson (1979) which includes readings from Winch, Gellner, Jarvie, Macintyre, and Lukes among others.

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underlying his approach. In his own words it is an attempt to tackle: “the dialectical relationship between access to power and the opportunity to legitimize certain dominant categories, and the processes by which the availability of such categories to some groups enables them to assert power and control over others” (p. 8). What counts as knowledge, then, must be rendered problematic because it is simply “a selection and organization from the available knowledge at a particular time” (p. 24). The definition of what counts as knowledge is an inherently political activity, for those in power decide which areas of knowledge are most worthwhile and how accessible such knowledge should be to different groups. The traditional academic curriculum is, in the main, the result of these decisions, and, therefore, it can be seen to be based on a set of assumptions that could be otherwise (pp. 32–34). The assumptions regarding what counts as knowledge are directly influenced by the values and the interests of the controlling groups (p. 35), who, it is claimed, once gaining access to certain kinds of knowledge have legitimized their own higher status and now, in turn, control not only the availability of knowledge (p. 33), but also its methods of assessment, selection and organization. Not only is knowledge socially constructed, it has an inherent political character. Young’s thesis regarding the political nature of knowledge, and his assertion of the links taken to exist between knowledge and control, amount to a critique of the analytic theory of knowledge advanced by philosophers of education. Indeed, to Young, Hirst and Peters represent one of the controlling groups which can be considered, in part responsible for the construction of an elite curriculum. In a critical examination of two contrasting conceptions of the curriculum, Young (1975a) attempts to show how both the view epitomized by Hirst and Peters, and that of their opponents, are deficient as theories of change. The commodity view of knowledge he ascribes to Hirst and Peters he dubs “curriculum as fact”, its critique, which he ascribes to Freire and Greene, among others, he calls “curriculum as practice”, He argues that while the first is “a historically specific reality expressing particular production relations among men” the latter can be equally mystifying, reducing “the social reality of the ‘curriculum’ to the subjective intentions and actions of teachers and pupils” (p. 237). Young’s concern here is with the problem of change in education, and neither view of the curriculum, so he maintains, reveals the political and economic character of education. Where the first presents education as a thing, “hiding the social relations between human beings who collectively produce it”, the second, while valuable in challenging the view of “curriculum as fact” and, in particular, the notion of teachers as passive reproducers, is “misleading both theoretically and practically in locating the possibilities of change in education solely within teachers’ practices’” (p. 243). While there can be little ground between Hirst’s “absolutist” conception of distinct forms of knowledge and what Young wants to regard as “no more than sociohistorical constructs of a particular time” (1971, p. 23) there are some parallels between Young and the Australian Marxists. Both, for instance, argue for the inherent political nature of knowledge, and both tend to level the same sorts of criticisms at the position adopted by Hirst and Peters. There are obvious differences too. Where Young is clearly humanist, ultimately locating the possibilities for change in human agency while at the same time recognizing more general structural constraints, those

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Australian Marxists who are committed to a structuralist view seem to want to deny a notion of human agency, and are, accordingly, unable to account for the possibility of constructive change. Further, where Young focuses on the social construction of reality and seeks a metatheory in a doctrine of control, the Australian Marxists attempt to anchor their research programme in a Lakatosian criterion of rationality for theory choice. Both are equally idealistic, though in different ways. Young’s project is faced with the difficulty of dealing with the relativistic implications of the “what counts as knowledge” thesis in a way that does not invalidate its own basic claims, and the Australian Marxists, basing their enterprise on Lakatosian criteria of rationality, and amending Lakatos’ account exactly at those points which would make it compatible with a Marxist epistemology, face the problem of a vicious circularity (Peters 1982). Young’s reorientation of research within the sociology of education is one which draws on, and attempts to combine the traditions within the parent discipline initiated by Marx, Weber and Durkheim (1971, p. 31) although Young does not say what sort of theoretical mix is to be preferred, nor, indeed, whether it is possible to wield such disparate orientations into a coherent theoretical whole. It later becomes clear that Young wishes to avoid such theoretical debates (1973, pp. 211–213). While he is eclectic his focus is on a particular sort of sociology—he wants to pursue a genuinely social sociology of knowledge, rather than one which reifies its own findings into a body of knowledge. Young indicates that the new approach attempts to be truly reflexive about the grounds of its own activity, and therefore, will recognize the contextual or situational character of what we know. Such a stance, of course, is itself theoretical, and, therefore, has to be considered in terms of the underlying grounds which support it. While Young advances a number of telling criticisms against the structuralist-functionalist account, the alternative perspective he advocates, which might be seen to overcome some of the methodological deficiencies of the older approach, is open to an objection of the grounds of its relativism. Such relativism, as indeed, both philosophers (Pring 1972; White 1975; Flew 1976; Dawson 1977; Warnock 1977) and sociologists (Banks 1974; Sharp and Green 1975; Ahier 1977; Demaine 1977), have pointed out threatens the epistemological foundations of the “new directions” sociology. Just how successful this attack has been, and the way in which Young has responded and others have sought to defend Young, is the subject for later discussion. Young’s outline for the new sociology is only schematic, but even at this early stage he recognizes that there are gaps and deficiencies in the approach he recommends. He admits, for instance, that there is “a lack of an overall framework for linking principles for the selection of content to the social structure” (p. 40) and confesses that given the present state of understanding it is difficult to see any “clear links between the organization of knowledge at the level of social structure and the process as it involves teachers in the classroom” (p. 32). These two problems, accurately identified by Young, in fact, remain problems for him and the approach he advocates. They are part of the broader issues of the relations between power and social stratification on the one hand, and the organization of school knowledge on the other. As yet Young has not provided an adequate conceptualization of these relations, or a coherent broader perspective within which to view them.

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The second phase of Young’s work can be characterized in terms of a more explicitly developed interpretive-phenomenological orientation, with a corresponding emphasis on the way in which various definitions, classifications or “typifications” actually enter into educational processes and practices. His method is to explore the political nature of school knowledge by investigating the way in which it is controlled, and the way in which such control results in the imposition of meanings This focuses on how priorities for ‘curriculum development’ are defined which would involve exploring the definitions of educational knowledge that are held by different groups. One can view these priorities as constituted in the interaction in particular settings, of agents of educational support (primarily those from business, local government and the Ministry, who are in position to allocate resources), and of educational practice (teachers)…. (Young 1972, p. 196)

He suggests more generally that the linkages between the financing, control, and the practice of education might be explored more fully. In this middle period, Young (1972, 1973, 1975a, b, 1976) is concerned to explore, ethnographically, the typifications given by various groups of an educational reality that is socially constructed. He seeks to understand how such groups collectively order their world by recourse to the accounts they have constructed—accounts in which definitions or typifications of knowledge, science, childhood, ability and so on prominently figure. While Young is still committed to the political nature of school knowledge and to the social construction of reality thesis, he is more preoccupied during this phase with demonstrating his concerns at the micro-level. It seems that the primary sociological task is directed at understanding the sets of meanings which are collectively given and used by groups to establish and order their world. This sort of understanding is deemed a necessary prerequisite to redefining and changing educational reality. The guiding thought here seems to be that if we see social reality as the result or product of “men’s active engagement in their history”, if we see “knowledge as constituted by the actions of men in educational and other settings… located in our history”, then “we can attempt to understand the origin of the present in the past, a present which thus becomes potentially transcendable through our actions with others” (1975b, pp. 6–7). Young, then, is intent on producing a sociology that is not only of relevance to teachers and pupils but also one which recognizes that the possibilities for change and the responsibility for political action are to be located in a view of human beings as active agents capable of transforming their own practices. Young’s humanism serves to indicate how the new sociology sharply diverges from post-war functionalism for the latter takes societies and/or social systems as the main unit of analysis and accordingly stresses a passive and deterministic view of human beings. Young is surely correct here for functionalism, as Giddens (1976) points out reduces human agency to the “internalization of values”; fails both to treat social life as actively constituted and “to make conceptually central the negotiated character of norms, as open to divergent and conflicting ‘interpretations’ in relation to divergent and conflicting interests in society” (p. 21); and treats the issue of power as a secondary phenomenon. Yet Banks’ (1974) cautions the danger of the new approach in emphasizing an “activist”, as opposed to a passive and deterministic approach, is not heeded.

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While this has its healthy side, in that is sensitises them [i.e., new sociologists] to the problems inherent in a mechanistic fundamentalist approach, it can become a weakness if it leads them to ignore the extent to which man is a determined as well as a determining being. (p. 6)

In turning to the phenomenological work of Schutz, whereas Young (1971) tells us “institutional definitions or typifications” are treated as “the intersubjective reality which men have constructed to give meaning to their world” (p. 27), Young is led into accepting a host of problems, many of which originate with over-emphasizing the extent to which human beings are determining. The phenomenological framework, while concentrating on the notion that reality is socially constructed, is unable to explain why it is that “certain stable institutionalised meanings emerge from practice rather than others” (Sharp and Green 1975, p. 24), or “how and why particular constructions of reality seem to have the power to resist subversion” (Whitty 1974, p. 125). There is a related theoretical incoherence in maintaining on the one hand that human beings are essentially free capable of transforming their practices, and asserting on the other that meanings are imposed (Demaine 1977, p. 120). Further, phenomenological analysis is limited in that by definition, it excludes a consideration of social and historical factors and is unable “to provide a basis for making judgements of value of social constructions” (Bates 1979, p. 8). The phenomenological framework within which Young pursues his inquiries is also, in part, the basis for the relativistic position he adopts, and is criticized for, on the question of knowledge. Although Young has not yet attempted to systematically outline the epistemology underlying his claims about the politics of school knowledge, certain features already mentioned, stand out clearly. First then, knowledge is considered a social product, and as such it is to be treated as available sets of meanings which are collectively given. These meanings are “constituted by the actions of men” (1975b, p. 7) and serve to construct or establish an intersubjective reality for each social group which is realized in a particular institutional context. Reality is socially constructed in the sense that it is the result of “men’s active engagement with their history, and of their attempts to organize their relations with nature and with others” (1975b, p. 6). Second, what is counted as knowledge by a particular group is, in part, the result of a selection and organization (1971, p. 24), through which each group generates its sense of what the world is like. The doctrine of control asserts that the selection and organization is carried out by elite groups who both impose their meanings and legitimize their impositions. We may add to these positive features, certain negative elements or elements that Young clearly rejects. Thus, Young rejects a traditional distinction between the knower, and the known, that is, between the knowing subject and the object of knowledge. “Knowing cannot be detached from what it is we know because knowing something—a relation between knower and known—is the only thing I understand by knowledge” (1975b, p. 9). It is also clear that Young rejects the traditional distinction between judgements of fact and judgements of value. “I am making a point about what might be meant by the term ‘know’ because it is nonsense, except in particular cases, to separate this from how we value our knowing” (1976, p. 52). Young’s epistemological stance is in opposition to foundational and “objectivist” conceptions of knowledge. For Young,

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such conceptions along with their notions of formal logic and truth criteria are said to be no different from what counts as knowledge for other social groups, in the sense that they are socio-historical constructs. “There is nothing we can say about statements”, Young asserts, “independent of contexts” (1976, pp. 52, 57). While these features certainly do not add up to a fully fledged epistemology, they do indicate Young’s overall direction and at the same time show a similarity both with a Wittgensteinian emphasis on the importance of context and with more recent historical developments in the philosophy of science. There are, in fact, further interesting similarities between Young’s epistemology and the Hegelian interpretation of Wittgenstein proposed in the opening chapter of this thesis. Young, like the later Wittgenstein, wants to emphasize the ways in which logics, truth criteria and rules of proof are grounded in common cultures rather than in something external to those who use such rules (1973, p. 215). His analysis of rules in terms of both context and use, similarly, might be deemed to be compatible with a Wittgensteinian approach. Further, Young, in similar fashion to Wittgenstein, wants to locate notions of truth criteria and rationality in our actions (cf. o.c. 204). “To recognize, that there can be no criteria of truth or rationality outside of men is not a denial of the possibility of these criteria but a humanising of them, through locating them in our actions, not our methods” (1975b, p. 7). Both Wittgenstein and Young attempted to show that an appropriately formulated relativism, while unable to be judged by an appeal to an independent external standard, is not necessarily self-refuting. That paper ended with a brief reference to the criterion problem of truth acknowledged by Burke (1979) and used by the Greek Sceptics (most notably Sextus Empiricus), against so-called dogmatic philosophy. I still believe that this argument, which I have used as the guiding motif for the opening chapter, is to be arguing for an historical notion of rationality. Not one, given once and for all—immune to change and revision—but one which is dynamic and open to change. Given the convergence between phenomenology and the work of the later Wittgenstein noted earlier, these similarities are not, perhaps, surprising. Such similarities, however, should not blind us to the obvious difference between Young’s position and that of the later Wittgenstein, for Young primarily is proposing a causal thesis, which attributes importance to an analysis of the source of categories and definitions, and he seeks to provide an empirical explanation of the way in which sets of meanings are used politically. In this regard, it is interesting to view the attempt of Clark and Freeman (1979a) who have sought to realize the promise of Young’s position within a framework which, it is alleged, avoids the problem of self-refutation taken to characterize the idealism and relativism inherent in his earlier work while giving bite to his central claims. They argue that the notion of validation of knowledge through action (praxis), together with the assertion of a conceptual relationship between knowledge and control via the notion of epistemic authority, renders a coherent epistemological position for Young. While such an interpretation might be seen to ally Young with Habermas’ (Young 1971) critique of scientism and technical rationality, it makes the assumption too readily that the criticisms concerning the self-refuting nature of Young’s thought, have found their mark. Although Young has said that he does not equate “social” with “relative” (1975a, p. 7) and despite his

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wish to put the relativism issue behind him, it would seem crucial to see whether a general case against his relativism can be substantiated. In a paper designed to investigate this issue, I argued, in association with two colleagues (Marshall et al. 1981a, b), that those who employ the self-refutation argument against Young actually beg the question by formulating Young’s position, not on his own relative grounds, but with premisses which assume objective notions of truth. The gist of our paper was simply that if these self-refutation arguments are meant to be reductio ad absurdum arguments, by assuming objective notions of truth and not Young’s own assumptions, they must be invalid. We gave several leading examples of this fallacy from the criticisms raised by Pring (1972), White (1975), Dawson (1977) and Clark and Freeman (1979b), and further an effective argument against those who appeal to absolutist and objectivist notions of truth to sanction their claims.14 Notions of truth and formal validity are not straightforward, unambiguous and neutral. They are theory-laden terms which embody metaphysical and epistemological assumptions inherent in the particular philosophy of logic one might adopt. Thus, the central issue of whether there is just one correct system of logic is a metaphysical issue which is difficult to answer without begging the question. While some would answer in the affirmative, the pluralist would argue that there is more than one correct system of logic, and the instrumentalist would deny that the notion of correctness is even appropriate. Again, whether one believes as Kant did, that (Aristotelian) logic is absolute and therefore unrevisable, or with Quine (1961) that logic is revisable, will depend upon our epistemological stance. Popper, for example, while emphasizing the fallibility of scientific conjectures is not prepared to extend such fallibilism to logic itself, but as we have previously seen in his attack on “two dogmas”, Quine most certainly is. The attacks on Young’s early position by philosophers of education not only ignore these general and complex issues in the philosophy of logic they also tend to obscure some other important questions or relevance. Their simple appeal to absolutist and objectivist notions of truth and validity by-passes questions concerning the applicability of formal logical systems to assessing informal arguments, and questions to do with what counts as a logic. Regarding the latter issue, some have argued that epistemic logics aren’t really logics, because belief and knowledge are ineradicably vague notions (Haack 1978, p. 7). There are, it seems, good grounds within the philosophy of logic to regard the issue of what counts as logic as problematic (see Haack 1978, pp. 1–10). Further, given the diversity which exists regarding theories of truth those philosophers of education who, against Young, espouse a notion of objective truth by correspondence, might themselves be encouraged to both recognize such diversity and the way in which their own choice of theory or problematic influences the conclusions they arrive at. To be sure, since those criticisms directed at both the phenomenological framework of the “new” sociology and its inherent relativism/idealism, Young’s position 14 See Siegel’s (1982) attack on our paper (1983) who takes issue with White (1983) Also see Knight

and conceptually distinguishes three versions of cultural relativism.

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has evolved further. In the two most recent collections edited in conjunction with his colleague Whitty (Young and Whitty 1977a, b) Young has sought to understand the political character of schooling and the possibilities for change by the radical teacher within the educational institutions of a capitalist society, in a way that avoids both the “naive optimism” of the earlier approach, and the “fatalistic pessimism” characteristic of academic sociology (1977a, p. 1). Most recently then, Young has moved away from an ethnographic concern for the minutia of school life, to return to the larger concerns of the implications of his views for a radical educational practice. It is acknowledged by Young that while the early “new directions” sociology showed how certain crucial practices of teachers and pupils, which embodied value-assumptions about “knowledge”, “ability”, “teaching” and “learning”, helped to sustain existing hierarchies, it also suffered from an important weakness. “The implication that an invitation to teachers to suspend their taken-for-granted assumptions and to examine critically their own practices would produce a transformation in the nature of their activities was ludicrously naïve” (1977a, p. 2). It is a self-criticism that is repeated elsewhere (1977b, p. 18). While there is a recognition of structural constraints to change, and a correction to the earlier approach which seemed to assume that redefinitions of school reality would somehow result in the redistribution of wealth, prestige and power, the belief in the potential changeability of definitions persists and is linked with a more realistic appraisal of possibilities for change. Under this approach, the limitations of Bowles and Gintis’ approach, and that of those who adopt an Althusserian perspective, are stressed.15 Both leave little scope for the practice by radical teachers in transforming existing school structures, and pessimistically indicate that “the struggle to transform the experience of schooling must await the transformation of society” (1977a, p. 4). Although it is clearly crucial to analyse the role of education in the reproduction of the existing division of labour, such analyses are often too general to be meaningful to anyone seeking to comprehend the nature of his or her work situation and of the possibilities for transforming it. There is also the danger that a narrow emphasis upon the political economy of schooling… will tend to obscure the ideological significance of prevailing definitions of curricular knowledge and their contribution to the maintenance of a quiescent work force. (1977a, p. 3)

The criticisms of the earlier approach in the new sociology have driven Young to recognize more explicitly the wider political context of schooling and, in particular, the way in which “definitions of what counts as education and knowledge are sustained, not merely by the assumptions and activities of teachers but by the ideas and actions of a whole variety of other interests in society” (1977a, p. 3), but it has not weakened his belief in the activity of radical teachers in bringing about change. Young does, however, now stress that it is only within “the context of an organized challenge” (1977a, p. 4) to institutionalized power that progress will be made and that radical teachers must be prepared “to link their struggle to transform the nature 15 See

Apple (1980) for a critique of correspondence theories also for the risk of romanticizing resistance. See also Giroux (1983).

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of educational experience to broader struggles to transform the distribution of power and privilege in society” (ibid.).

(d) Towards a Reconciliation of Structuralism and Humanism While so far I have only attempted to point out the shortcomings of both the structuralist position and the sociology of knowledge thesis, these criticisms should now ideally provide the ground for overcoming them and for advocating an alternative suggestion. In this final section I will concentrate on the possibility of effecting a theoretical reconciliation between structuralism and humanism. Such a reconciliation, I want to suggest, might preserve the importance of the notion of structure at both the epistemological and social level, while allowing for the possibility of change framed within terms of human agency. I do not have the space to develop this conception of a possible reconciliation in detail, but I shall attempt to broadly sketch the sort of programme that I favour. In terms of the present discussion it is profitable to recall the comparison made earlier between Marxist epistemology espoused by the Althusserians, with that held in “Marxist” sociology by Michael Young and his associates. Where the former has reacted against the traditional role assigned to the individual by empiricism in the production of knowledge, in order to emphasize the importance and relative autonomy of the structure of knowledge, the latter has, in fact, made exactly the reverse move. The inversion might be carried further for just as the usage of the notion of structure has led the Althusserians to conceptually obliterate the active knowing subject, and consequently left them unable to account for constructive change, so too the usage of the notion of an active human agency has led the “humanists” optimistically to overestimate the possibilities for change while neglecting structural constraints to political action. While one approach stresses the way in which we as human beings are determined, the other stresses the way in which we are determining. Suspicious as I am in general of attempts to reach middle ground surely what is needed here is an account which recognizes the extent to which human beings are determined as well as determining in both the production of knowledge and society and their reproduction. Just how a theoretical reconciliation might be brought about is, of course, the difficult question. Can Young’s sociological humanism admit some notion of structure? Can Althusserian structuralism accommodate some notion of human agency and yet remain theoretically coherent? Certainly, while Young has come to recognize structural constraints to change and the naivety of his early assumption that re-definitions of school reality would somehow result in a redistribution of power and wealth he has yet to produce a framework which successfully combines notions of structure and human agency. For the structuralists to reintroduce a notion of human agency

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would be to repudiate Althusser’s reading of Marx, but it would appear that such a notion is necessary to make sense of the temporal dimension of problematics— their origination, transformation and dissolution. Giddens (1976) in his appraisal of the concept “structure”, as it is used by both the structural functionalists and the French structuralists, retains the notion of structure as essentially “subject-less” while arguing for a view which neither of the above approaches can handle adequately; the constitution of social life as the production of active subjects. Giddens (1976) asserts that where the philosophy of action mistakenly treats the problem of “production” only and therefore omits structural analysis: “the limitation of both structuralism and functionalism, on the one hand, is to regard ‘reproduction’ as a mechanical outcome, rather than as an active constituting process, accomplished by, and consisting in, the doings of active subjects” (p. 121). He attempts to overcome these pitfalls by introducing the notion of structuration as the “true explanatory locus of structural analysis”. Interaction is constituted by and in the conduct of subjects; structuration, as the reproduction of practices refers abstractly to the dynamic process whereby structures come into being. By the duality of structure I mean that social structures are both constituted by human agency, and yet at the same time are the very medium of the constitution. (p. 121)

I shan’t pursue Giddens’ (1976) formulation any further here, but interestingly he attempts to track out his own view by reference to the exemplar of language and Wittgenstein’s notion of rule following (p. 124). The position he adopts is but one attempt to preserve the promise of structural analysis while retaining a notion of human agency. It is a moot point, however, whether the conceptual exercise of preserving aspects of both structuralism and humanism, and the attempt to successfully re-combine them into a theoretical whole, can take place without detailed casestudies of the actual process involved. Although such case-study work is itself theoryladen, and continually in need of revisable theoretical guidelines, it is only within the dialectical and piece-meal process whereby practice informs theory, and theory guides practice, that any progress on this question is likely to be made in my opinion. The sort of case-study I have in mind is that represented by Paul Willis’ (1977) study of “the lads”. It seems to me that Willis’ study of how British working class kids get working-class jobs demonstrates the contribution of ethnographic study to testing theoretical structures, and resolving or refraining theoretical problems. In particular, Willis’ study sheds some light on the actual processes involved, where notions of structure and human agency, equally, have interpretive validity and applicability in understanding complex and lived situations. In this connection it is interesting to note that in his investigations of counter-school culture Willis came to view the “cultural”: not simply as a set of transferred internal structures (as in the usual notions of socialization) nor as the passive result of action of dominant ideology downwards (as in certain kinds of Marxism), but at least in part as the product of collective human praxis. (p. 4)

While Willis (1977) recognizes that the counter-school culture and its processes are in some sense determined, the recognition of this determination does not dismiss creativity. Cultural forms, Willis argues, are not produced simply by outside determination. They are produced from “the activities and struggles of each new generation”

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and include creative “penetrations” “of the conditions of existence of its members and their position within the social whole” (p. 119). “It is these cultural and subjective processes, and actions which flow from them, which actually produce and reproduce what we think of as aspects of structure” (pp. 120–121). The central contradiction Willis attempts to present and explore is the moment in working-class culture: when the manual giving of labour power represents both a freedom, election and transcendence, and a precise insertion into a system of exploitation and oppression for working class people. The former promises the future, the latter shows the present. It is the future in the present which hammers freedom to inequality in the reality of contemporary capitalism. (p. 120)

To be sure, the Cultural Studies approach originating at the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, the University of Birmingham is not free from criticism. The move from Correspondence Theory, exemplified in the work of Bowles and Gintis (1976), to Resistance Theory (Willis 1977) has been recently criticized on two main sorts of ground. First, it is asserted that the cultural studies approach romanticizes the reactionary social practices of the resisters, such as ageism, sexism and antiintellectualism; and second, it has been argued that the new approach promotes a series of epistemological dualisms which disappear on the adoption of a materialist and holistic epistemology (Walker 1983c, 1986). I do not have the space here to examine the nature of the criticisms in detail, or even to look more closely at the Materialist-Pragmatism alternative offered. To end this chapter, however, I do wish to make a few suggestions that, along with the concluding remarks of the previous chapter and in conjunction with the orientation adopted in the two succeeding chapters, are intended to point the way for a Wittgensteinianinspired research programme. These suggestions both differ from and are similar to the Materialist Pragmatism option, but any systematic exploration of these points is dependent upon the further elaboration of the two programmes. In what follows I make no apology for stressing the lines of convergence and complementarity among certain philosophies even although in the space provided I can give only the barest outline of these mappings, for if anything is clear it is that no one approach of itself can adequately deal with the complexities of the problems that we confront. Although the problems may be similar or even common to a variety of different approaches, their solutions outrun the conceptual resources of any one approach. Our hope of solving such problems depends upon the coherent marriage of the more powerful ones and their marriage is as much a task that demands historical understanding as it does philosophical analysis. The details and complexities of the programme that I am advocating cannot be entered into here for they would require a great deal more discussion that I can give in the space permitted, but briefly it is a programme that is fully consistent with the Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein I have so far advanced. First, it seeks to draw lines of complementarity between aspects of the thought of the later Wittgenstein and that of Marx. Second, it seeks to develop the lines of similarity between the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein and the historicist turn taken by the Wittgensteinians Kuhn, Toulmin and Feyerabend in the philosophy

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of science. Third, it seeks to emphasize the lines of convergence between aspects of the latter Wittgenstein’s philosophy of language and that of various continental philosophers, most notably, Gadamer’s. The development of this programme is both a philosophical and an historical task for all lines have their common source in the effect of the Hegelian critique in displacing the traditional approach to knowledge. In general terms, such a programme may be seen as making the shift from logical to historical models of rationality. Of these three lines of investigation only the last two are developed with any degree of depth; the second constitutes the subject matter, in part, of Chapter IV while the third is pursued in the final chapter. It remains for me here to say something briefly about each, and to indicate some of the advantages and problems of such a programme. It has already been noted that some scholars have begun to document the ways in which Wittgenstein and Marx share certain features of their conceptions of philosophy (see p. 94 above). Both, for instance, emphasize the primacy of practice or praxis, and equally stand against traditional epistemology in its pursuit of secure foundations for knowledge and of external standards of justification. The Hegelian “meta-critique” becomes a reference point for a series of interesting similarities. But more than this their approaches are, in actuality, complementary. Thus, Zimmerman (1978) argues that although Wittgenstein and Marx are seen to be important contributors to a systematic theory about language, action and reality, Wittgenstein lacks a theory of non-linguistic actions given by Marx in his paradigm of non-linguistic activities as production and Marx lacks a systematic theory of language given by Wittgenstein. While it is true to say that an appeal to ordinary language with the preoccupation of examining subtle conceptual distinctions has often tended to enforce ideologies which systematically conceal the historical realities they refer to (Sayers 1978) as we have seen in the case of analytic philosophy of education, it is equally true to say that Wittgenstein was concerned to deconstruct and transcend the “picture [that] held us captive” (PI, 115). As we have already noted, the possibility of the development of a Wittgensteinian theory of ideology has not gone unnoticed. Zimmerman (1978) argues that it is natural to question the relations between fundamental facts of a social kind and forms of life, and suggests that fundamental kinds of social fact such as wage-labour, class struggle and the exercise of power by certain groups, just like facts of nature, are limiting conditions of forms of life whether they are known or not. The difference is that unlike facts of nature, they are subject to criticism and change. A Marxist understanding of the social background practices in the capitalist “form of life” fits nicely here. The Hegelian “meta-critique” and the consequent rejection of reductionistic and foundationalist ways of thinking unites the first line of investigation with both the second and third. An Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein stresses a holistic approach both in philosophy and in the study of social reality, which issues forth in a form of historicism. On this interpretation there is common ground here between Wittgenstein and Marx. It is true, however, that a “purist” interpretation of Wittgenstein, while acknowledging that it is our “acting which lies at the bottom of

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our language-game” (PI, 204), will stress that the larger context—the life form—is not amenable to theoretical articulation. Yet for Marx the larger context does not resist conceptual formulation. Indeed, this is the very activity which lies at the basis of human praxis and which thereby promotes the historical self-understanding that is the motive source for rational change. This holism and historicism is also at the root of the similarities between the later Wittgenstein and the Wittgensteinian philosophers of science (Kuhn, Toulmin, Feyerabend). The Wittgensteinian notion of “paradigm” has received considerable attention at the hands of Kuhn and the presuppositions of the standard empiricist account of science—its correspondence theory of truth and belief in a universal scientific language—have accordingly been undermined. The notion that science progresses through the accumulation of established truths has given way to a view which maintains that science is founded on beliefs which are presupposed but not proven. Such presuppositions are seen to be open to revision, and a change in the presuppositions, it is held, leads to a complete restructuring. In its extreme, knowledge and the associated idea that what is to count as knowledge is relative to a specific body of beliefs—be it a theory, paradigm, historical era or culture—has led to talk of “incommensurability” and raised a serious problem of rational theory-choice. The convergence between Wittgensteinian philosophy and various brands of continental philosophy has been mentioned earlier (see p. 93 above). Much of the basis of this convergence can be located in a common interest in language as the expression of social consciousness and “shaper” of social reality and in a shared rejection of positivism and the scientism it promotes. Here the traditional issue of the unity of the sciences—natural and social—raises its head once again, and much of the current interest focuses, as it does in philosophy of science, on the notion of interpretation. It is an issue of central importance to both ethnographic studies in education and their underlying epistemologies. The view of theoretical holism (exemplified in the Materialist-Pragmatist approach) argues that science involves interpretation and that interpretation is to be construed as a form of translation. Drawing on a variety of arguments in philosophy of science this view maintains that there is no possibility of finding neutral uninterpreted data for deciding between competing hypotheses or theories; science, in other words, like all other human cognitive activities, involves interpretation. One line of thinking—a Quinean view embraced by Walker and Evers—then draws the consequence that there are no epistemologically interesting differences between the natural and the social sciences. In both the main unit of analysis is the theory. Some take this to be a firm denial of the Winchian-Wittgensteinian position which seeks to show the conceptual impossibility of a social science mode led on (a positivist account) of the natural sciences; others want to maintain the dichotomy on new grounds. A resolution of this problem, of course, has fundamental significance for the status and characterization of educational theory. In this regard, it is interesting to acknowledge that Wittgenstein’s accent on the primacy of practice (PI, 204) has led some philosophers to draw parallels between Wittgenstein’s “background practices” and Foucault’s “micro-practices”, Polanyi’s

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“tacit knowledge” and Heidegger’s “pre-understandings”. Thus, both Von Wright (1972) and Dreyfus (1980) emphasize that such background practices are the noncognitive pre-condition for all understanding. Von Wright (1972) construes it as a “pre-knowledge” which is not propositional but “a kind of praxis” (p. 58). Dreyfus (1980) characterizes these background practices as a “pre-understanding” following Heidegger and suggests that such “pre-understanding” serves to separate the practical holism of Wittgenstein and Heidegger from the theoretical holism espoused by Quine and Ullian (1970). The latter, Dreyfus alleges “treats all understanding as an epistemological problem as a question of theoretical knowledge, so, on this view there is no important difference between the knowledge sought in the social and the natural sciences” (p. 6). On the Quinean account, “all one needs in order to understand another culture or epoch is a theory that maximizes agreement as to which beliefs are true and which are false” (p. 7). Yet “it seems that the background of practices does not consist in a belief system, a system of rules, or in formalized procedures; indeed, it seems the background does not consist in representations at all” (p. 9). The danger of conflating practical and theoretical holism, according to Dreyfus, leads some philosophers (including Rorty 1980) to assimilate “the understanding of the meaning of cultures, societies, and individual behaviour to the understanding of meaningless physical motions” (p. 15). In what follows I make no pretence at attempting to solve all the problems mentioned. My main interest is in following through on two of the main three lines of investigation mentioned above. The complexities and problems involved in mapping out a complementary Marxist-Wittgensteinian approach must be left for another time. Perhaps, most fundamentally I embrace a hermeneutic understanding of the social sciences and of philosophy, which in conjunction with an Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein, opposes both the pluralist reading of Wittgenstein and of Wittgensteinians in the sciences (Winch, Kuhn and Feyerabend) which tends to render language games, theories and cultures as wholly independent systems. Rather, I emphasize an historical interpretation of the significance of these language systems, and by reference to Gadamer, attempt to demonstrate the historicity of understanding where the focus falls on the mediational character of language in understanding an epoch, a text, a culture or a theory.

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Part III

Constitutive Rationality and Historicism

Chapter 5

The Force of Historicism in the Philosophy of Science

All testing, all confirmation and disconfirmation of a hypothesis takes place already within a system. And this system is not a more or less arbitrary and doubtful point of departure for all our arguments: no it belongs to the essence of what we call an argument. The system is not so much the point of departure as the element in which arguments have their life. Ludwig Wittgenstein, On Certainty, (G. E. M. Anscombe & G. H. von Wright, Eds.). Oxford: Blackwell, 1969, para, 105.

(a) Two Conceptions of Rationality Re-Visited Earlier in this book we saw how analytic philosophers and, in particular how those practicing in education, sought to solve the problem of rationality at the level of philosophical method. The answer that I first sketched and then called into question was one, standing in a long established tradition, which emphasized a view of philosophy as both a second-order and autonomous activity—where the quest for certainty, for a “permanent and neutral framework for all inquiry”, was represented by a removal to and security at, the meta-level. The modern equivalent of the reflexive turn of Locke and Kant, I argued, could be seen in the linguistic turn taken by twentieth-century Anglo-American philosophy where the fundamental gambit of talking of and analysing concepts and their relations both guaranteed neutrality and promised the means for enabling rational agreement among philosophers. The resulting privileged epistemic status of philosophy so it is further alleged, grants to philosophers the pre-eminent right and a neutral apparatus or method by which to investigate and adjudicate on claims to knowledge, so that philosophy is conceived as standing to first-order, and particularly to empirical disciplines, as the study of form or structure to the study of content. I argued on the basis of this conception that philosophy can be interpreted as the search for a neutral or impartial basis for rational judgement and agreement, and suggested that, in general, this search has focused on the notion of knowledge—its conditions and foundations—as providing such a basis. © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. A. Peters, Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9_5

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In contrast to these ahistorical and absolutist notions of rationality and knowledge I sought to develop competitor notions which take the temporal dimension seriously. These competitor notions of rationality and knowledge based on Wittgenstein’s holism, on doubts raised by Wittgenstein and Quine over a series of traditional distinctions designed to separate questions of schema from those of content, and reinforced by an Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein, were the result of an attempt to show how things might look if we abandoned the search for a presuppositionless starting point for philosophy. Now I want to follow through with this contrast, developing it further, within the domain of the philosophy of science. I do this for a number of reasons. First, in developing this contrast, I am, quite simply, consolidating my own historical thesis. Second, and in line with my overall historical interpretation, I wish to emphasize the Wittgensteinian underpinnings for the reaction against positivistic models of rationality and knowledge. Third, much of modern epistemology has become virtually synonymous with philosophy of science so much so in fact, that any discussion of knowledge and rationality, whether it be concerned with education or some other area of study, cannot take place adequately without reference to developments in the philosophy of science. Starting with foundationalist epistemology which holds that an analysis of the conditions of knowledge exhausts an analysis of rationality, and therefore concludes that truth and certainty are necessary conditions of rationality, I shall successively move through the territory of philosophy of science to examine the positivist notion that rationality (closely associated with the context of justification) can be reduced to and captured in a series of highly formal algorithms—a set of abstract methodological rules for acquiring knowledge. My historical account eventually leads to the recent historicist position where rationality is no longer seen to be strictly identified with absolutist and ahistorical conceptions of knowledge nor defined exclusively in terms of one or more of its conditions. Not only will it be seen in terms of this historical perspective that the notion of rationality has progressively shed off its association with absolutist conceptions of knowledge but also that in more recent accounts in the philosophy of science, its association with the context of justification and with allied notions of objectivity and truth, has been seriously questioned. In considering the historical story I want to suggest that recognized standards of rationality have changed as what have been taken to be acceptable accounts of knowledge have changed, and that as a result of sceptical challenges to accounts of justification, such standards have become further and further removed from the conditions of certainty and truth entailed by the traditional absolutist, ahistorical accounts of knowledge. This interpretation, thus, argues that ahistorical, absolutist conceptions of rationality and knowledge are, paradoxically, themselves historical products of particular intellectual communities that are locatable in both time and place. In line with (Rorty 1980) I regard these conceptions as attempts by some philosophers “to eternalize the normal discourse of the day”. The notion of rationality I am concerned to argue against is an ahistorical, absolutist one, that is, a notion which is assumed to be valid in all places and at all times. Accordingly, it is a notion that admits of no degrees:

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either a belief (or set of beliefs) is rational or it is non-rational. Amsterdamski (1982) in analyzing this epistemic concept of rationality has pointed to the way in which it assumes that differences between rationality and non-rationality should be treated as a fact of nature, but as he argues, epistemology does not disclose such differences, rather it postulates them conventionally in accordance with the, then, accepted ideal of knowledge (pp. 3–17). My approach in this chapter will be to reverse the traditional order of things and to view and briefly sketch in terms of an historical perspective the changing accounts of knowledge as the means by which philosophers have successively attempted to approach the problem of rationality. This certainly runs against absolutist accounts of rationality, for they derive from absolutist accounts of knowledge and method which standardly assume that “truth” is a more fundamental notion than “rationality”. The force of historicist conceptions of rationality, then, can be largely construed as an attack upon this very assumption. Indeed, it is increasingly common to find in the literature from those of both historicist and non-historicist persuasions, that theories of scientific knowledge and rationality are no longer seen as having to offer an account of truth as part and parcel of the defence of the possibility of rational scientific belief (see my discussion of Popper below). The contrast between ahistorical and historical notions of rationality may be pointed to clearly in historical terms. It can be seen generally in the shift from logical models of rationality and knowledge that dominated Logical Empiricism to historical models that have been recently advocated. In fact, the work of the historically oriented Wittgensteinians, Kuhn, Toulmin and Feyerabend, along with aspects of Quine’s epistemology, has undermined several crucial assumptions upon which the standard empiricist account depended, including those of naive realism, of a universal scientific language and of the correspondence theory of truth (see Hesse 1980). The shift from logical to historical models, and the attack on these fundamental empiricist assumptions is also reflected in Wittgenstein’s own work—in his later reappraisal of his early philosophy (which, itself had motivated many of those who became known as the “Vienna Circle” [Hanfling 1981]). In providing this historical interpretation, then, I shall be indirectly tracing the effect or influence of the later Wittgenstein on contemporary historicist philosophers of science. Wittgenstein’s notion of paradigm was applied to the philosophy of science as early as 1938 by Wittgenstein’s student Watson (1938) and later again by Toulmin (1953). It was taken up by Kuhn (1962) in what became the classic, if somewhat ambiguous, application and the full consequences of accepting a characterization of science based upon its application are still being worked out (Kisiel 1982). With Kuhn’s application came the associated notions of incommensurability and paradigm change which, according to some, have destroyed the basis for “rational” theory-choice in science and led to the present crisis concerning scientific rationality. The epistemological basis of the “new historicism” is the belief that the theory-laden view of observation prevents any rational comparison of competing theories for in the absence of a neutral observational language there is no theory-independent observational basis for calling theories “rivals”. It is clear that the present crisis in philosophy of science revolves

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around questions of meaning, and specifically the question of possibility of meaning invariance across theories. Contrary to the view of classic empiricism, science, like any other cognitive activity, involves interpretation. This simple statement belies the importance and relevance of both the work of the later Wittgenstein and that of recent hermeneutics to resolving problems in contemporary philosophy of science. The contrast I set up between competitor notions of rationality, and the historical story in the philosophy of science I want to tell are neither novel nor radical. Standard accounts in the history and historiography of philosophy of science are available in much more detail than I can possibly provide in the space of one chapter, and others have set up such a contrast in similar terms. For instance, Hiley (1979) in a highly instructive paper that deserves attention, wants to distinguish between a notion of rationality that is intimately tied to knowledge and objective truth and one that is connected with the intelligibility and success of a system of beliefs (pp. 133–134). He suggests that the swing between “dogmatic” and “relativist” theories of rationality comes about from the conflation of these two notions: the confusion is between rationality viewed as constitutive of any sustaining system of beliefs and rationality identified with a mode of inquiry leading to objective truth. The broad contrast is between the view that rationality is necessary for the success of a system of beliefs, and the view that it is necessary for knowledge and objective truth. (p. 139)

He lines up Feyerabend and Kuhn with the former notion, and such figures as Popper and Trigg with the later, and he interprets the recent defences of rationality given by Lukes and Kekes as attempts to steer between the dual threats of “dogmatism” on the one hand, and “relativism” on the other. Hiley himself is suspicious of these attempts to formulate a middle position and he is concerned to recommend the former notion, though he suggests that it is “only if one thinks that scepticism about rationality must be defeated or else relativism embraced that the controversy is taken to be about [absolute] rationality” (p. 140). Significantly, he adds that both the position of conceptual relativism and the attack upon it require the distinction of scheme and content. Both emanate from the same single source: the Cartesian duality between the world, and our representations of it (cf. Rorty 1980). To point to this “dogma”, and to expose the source in the way Davidson (1975) does, results in undermining both the position and the attack upon it, equally. In terms of Hiley’s distinction, Wittgenstein must be seen to be advocating something like a notion of constitutive rationality, and the application and development of his ideas in philosophy of science by Toulmin, Kuhn and Feyerabend is clearly more concerned with this, as opposed to its competing notion. But while Hiley’s distinction provides a useful framework within which to view much recent discussion it does not allow us to see clearly the historical story, or the extent to which standards of rationality have changed in response to developments within epistemology. Nor does it enable us to appreciate that the notion of constitutive rationality as it emerges in the work of the later Wittgenstein (and as it has been subsequently applied and developed in philosophy of science) is part of a more general repudiation of “absolute rationality” characteristic of both a particular conception of philosophy and of philosophical method.

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Traditionally, accounts of the nature of rationality have been closely linked with accounts of knowledge, and, in particular, with attempts to meet the sceptical challenge to the justification condition in the classical analysis. For A to know that p, in the classical analysis, it is necessary that (1) A believe that p; (2) p is true and; (3) A is justified or has good reason for believing that p. (In the standard empiricist account justification is seen in terms of evidential support). All three conditions have come in for a great deal of criticism. Gettier (1967) in a now famous paper produces counter-examples which demonstrate that these conditions are neither necessary nor jointly sufficient. His counter-examples show that, in spite of the desire to tighten the conditions of knowledge, A can be justified or have good reason for believing that p, where p is false. Similarly, where the justification condition is construed in empiricist terms, it has been demonstrated (e.g., by Popper, Kuhn, Feyerabend) that A can be justified in believing that p (i.e., p have “good” evidential support) and yet p be false. The justification or “rationality” condition is one that has been the subject of considerable debate, and yet so far no clear or agreed upon understanding of the concept of epistemic justification has emerged. Nevertheless the traditional link between accounts of knowledge and those of rationality becomes evident in the justification condition: both are concerned to answer the same sorts of question, “what kinds of reasons (or evidence) count as ‘good’ reasons (or evidence)?”; “what kinds of arguments (or theories) are ‘good’ arguments (or theories)?” The rationality of a belief or set of beliefs, then, is to be assessed in terms of the justification (i.e., reasons/evidence) offered for it. It is often just at this point that the sceptic raises a challenge, exploiting the problem of justification by pointing out that any answer faces either an infinite regress or an inevitable and vicious circularity, for if beliefs are justified by “good” reasons or evidence and are considered rational if and only they can be shown to be the result of reliable reasoning, then it is necessary to know what reliable reasoning consists in. To say that reasoning is reliable if and only if it conforms to certain epistemological (or methodological) standards, only removes the problem one step, for as the sceptic points out, these standards must, themselves, be capable of rational justification. Within the context of scientific rationality the sceptic thus demonstrates by logical argument that the commitment to science cannot itself be rationally justified in terms of those criteria which determine the rationality of the scientific method. In other words, the sceptic demonstrates that accounts of scientific rationality are self-reflexively inconsistent in that these accounts do not meet the same tests or standards for rationality developed in the account. It seems, therefore, that ultimately a commitment to scientific rationality involves a leap of faith. I have previously criticized the reflexive move in linguistic philosophy as one that mistakenly attempts to define a neutral stand-point for rational judgement. The general criticism levelled at the critical move made by a reflexive turn, was that it could only preserve a notion of absolute rationality at the expense of its own selfreflexive inconsistency. The inquiry into the nature and limitations of human reason, or language, which was proposed first by Kant and Locke, and later by philosophers of the linguistic turn, as a philosophical means of resolving first-order disputes, takes

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place on the assumption that the limitations and nature of reason or language thus revealed do not affect our capacity to carry out the critical or second-order inquiry in the first place. The doctrines of autonomy and neutrality are invoked to protect the allegedly special epistemic standpoint of meta-level inquiry. We have seen the extent to which these associated doctrines are open to question, and, in particular, how they are open to sceptical attack both in the preceding Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein (Chapter 2) and in Chapter 3 which criticizes the autonomy of analytic philosophy of education. It would seem that a genuinely self-reflexive philosophy, divested of doctrines of autonomy and neutrality, sanctions the critical move but in taking it one step further through self-application, escapes the sceptical attack. I would like to end this introductory section with a brief note on the scope of this chapter. It is specifically intended as an introduction to the developments in philosophy of science leading to the historicist turn, and while I may canvass arguments from outside the historicist “movement” (for example, in discussing aspects of Quine’s epistemology) I make no claims to providing anything like a comprehensive survey of developments in philosophy of science. In particular, I have deliberately ignored the “new realism” for reasons of both coherence and economy of space, but I believe with Hesse (1980) that from the wider perspective this problematic looks “parochial and over-intellectualized” (p. xiii). She notes that the realist problematic: not only underestimated the challenge to empiricist presuppositions arising from modern history and philosophy of science, but it also bypasses two other features of the general philosophical scene. The first is the hermeneutical understanding of the human sciences as developed in Continental tradition from Dilthey and Weber to Gadamer and Habermas, and also in Anglo-American philosophy by successors of Wittgenstein. The second is the sociological discussion of epistemology initiated by Marx and continued by Durkhein and their successors. (pp. xiii–xiv)

She acknowledges that these approaches, along with the more recent ones of Kuhn, Feyerabend and Quine, have led to the threat of relativism, and while she claims that relativism is an inescapable consequence of the Quine-Duhem thesis of underdetermination of theories, at the same time she maintains that the problem of relativism “appears particularly damaging just insofar as the ideal of knowledge retains the empiricist presuppositions of naive realism, the universal scientific language, and the correspondence theory of truth” (p. xiv). Finally she places her faith for the resolution of this problem (and others) in a wider epistemological framework “embracing the philosophy of social science, hermeneutics, and the sociology of knowledge” as well as philosophy of science, for she is adamant that the problems will not “be resolved in the context of natural science alone” (p. xiv). I share the same faith as must, by now, be apparent, but also believe that the relativism label cited against such figures as Wittgenstein and Kuhn, where it pertains to a pluralistic interpretation of independent language-systems, is mitigated in face of the hermeneutical recognition (especially in Gadamer) of the mediational character of language (see Chapter 5).

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(b) Foundationalist (Absolutist) Epistemology Foundationalist theories of knowledge generally operate on the assumption that if there is any knowledge at all, there must be at least some knowledge with a special or privileged status. Here the infinite regress argument is used to support the view that there must be some non-inferential type of belief, which forms the foundations of knowledge if there is to be any knowledge at all. According to this argument a belief is justified, and therefore rational, if it has been validly inferred from another belief, itself justified, and therefore rational. The regress takes hold: what ultimate justification is there for the ancestral chain of inferentially justified beliefs? Two logical possibilities present themselves: either the ancestral chain of justified beliefs comes to an end or it does not. The foundationalist argues against the sceptic that the ancestral chain does not lead to an infinite regress, but rather terminates in a class of non-inferentially justified beliefs which form the basis upon which all inferentially justified beliefs ultimately rest. Where Descartes, Kant and Hume took such ultimate truths to be a priori principles, most recent philosophers (e.g., Russell, Reichenbach, Ayer) have taken them to be particular statements of empirical fact (Brown 1977, distinguishes between top-down and bottom-up models). Thus, although the type of non-inferential belief thought to comprise the foundations of knowledge has varied considerably, common to traditional foundationalism is the belief that justification must offer a guarantee of both truth and certainty. On the traditional foundationalist model, for instance, certainty is regarded as being minimally necessary for rationality? One is rationally justified in holding a belief, if and only if that belief is indubitable, or has been validly inferred from an indubitable belief. As Brown (1978) makes clear this notion of rationality is common to Descartes, in his insistence that we have no grounds for accepting any claim as true until we have established it on an indubitable foundation; to Kant, in his demand that the foundations of science be a priori (i.e., necessary and universal) and to Hume, in his observation that no matter-of-fact proposition is a necessary truth since its contrary is logically consistent (p. 241). The full Humean consequence of accepting a sharp distinction between reason and experience, so Brown tells us, is that although we may come to accept that a particular fact has a particular cause on the basis of experience, this belief can never count as rational belief, for a belief is rational if and only if it is demonstrable, i.e., if its denial is logically inconsistent. For Hume, then, no belief arrived at though experience meets this demand. However, to accept Hume’s narrow characterization of reason as requiring logical indubitability or certainty is to play the sceptic’s game, and to exclude a priori even the possibility of ever holding rational beliefs about the world. Faced with such a conception, Brown (1978) asks why we should play the Humean game: why should we first demand that reason provide logical certainty, then, observing that experience does not provide such certainty, radically distinguish reason from experience, and

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noting that virtually all of our important beliefs derive from experience, conclude to the general irrelevance of reason? (p. 242)

Brown’s approach to this problem, following Strawson’s lead, is to point out that those who demand certainty as a necessary condition of all reasoning are simply misconstruing what counts as being rational. Granted that all our inferences about matters of fact are based on experience, and that no inference from past experience to future experience is indubitable, still a belief about a matter of fact that is accepted on the basis of past experience is a paradigm case of a rationally grounded belief. (p. 242)

Brown’s approach, apparently, is to accept the distinction as legitimate, but to argue that the class of experiential beliefs constitute a paradigm of rational belief. Classic empiricism, of course, is built on this distinction, and it attempts to isolate some privileged items of knowledge in the indubitability of the “given”. A more promising line of argument against foundationalism is to question the basis of the initial distinction, and of the more general presuppositions underlying the Cartesian-Kantian problematic (see Rorty 1980). As I have pursued this line, myself, in previous chapters, I shall be more concerned to concentrate on modern strains of empiricism (e.g., Logical Positivism), and on the criticisms raised against its basic presuppositions. Modern empiricism, following the Humean path though transposed into a linguistic key and separated from its classical antecedents in its purpose of giving a logical analysis of knowledge rather than a genetic or psychological account of its growth, has sought to anchor knowledge in what has been taken to be the indubitability of the “given”. Standardly, on this model, the empiricist thesis is supplemented with talk of verification, where it is held that if a basic statement can be verified it can be known to be true, and—preserving the central tenet of empiricism—that experience can provide a direct and certain verification of such basic statements. Here the rationality of a belief is still tied to standards of certainty and truth. These basic statements are generally considered to constitute direct or phenomenal first-person reports of immediate experience which are indubitably true. They have been given a variety of names within different theories of knowledge. Russell referred to them as “atomic” propositions. Neurath and Carnap called them “protocol” propositions. Schlick gave them the label “constatations”. More recently, Ayer has referred to them as “basic” propositions (Quinton 1966). The arguments used to establish such basic propositions are too various to mention here, but the guiding motivation behind them might be typified in the following slogan: something must be certain for anything to be even probable. The notion of basic statements faced a number of insuperable problems. Among these was the difficulty associated with demonstrating their indubitability, given the possibility of misdescribing the contents of one’s experience. Thus, although I may accept with certainty that “I see what I see”, it does not follow that “I know what I am seeing”. The problem exists of giving an acceptable account of the way in which direct reports of immediate experience are to be translated into justified belief about material objects.

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A second more powerful series of objections surrounds the notion of basic statements as phenomenal, momentary and essentially private. It is difficult to imagine how such basic statements might serve as appropriate foundations for scientific knowledge, which, seemingly, requires that any belief based on experience must be both testable in some manner and publicly accessible. These are further difficulties associated with the justification of the move from the private realm to the public— difficulties that have been highlighted by Wittgenstein’s “argument” concerning the impossibility of a private language.1 It is now well recognized that the foundationalist answer that we have a rational warrant for accepting a belief if and only if it is possible to ultimately derive it from a special class of beliefs characterized by certainty and truth, is misdirected. Although the foundationalist theory is still defended (see Chisholm 1966) in the more modest form of a class of self-warranted beliefs that are seen to be justified to some degree, in general the search for such foundations has been given up, and the standards accepted for defining or characterizing the rationality of a belief, relaxed. Beliefs need not be logically certain for them to be rational. To hold that beliefs arrived at through experience should meet the demand of logical certainty is to misconstrue the notion of empirical belief and to misplace the notion of rationality. Brown (1978) further attempts to demonstrate that truth is neither a necessary nor sufficient condition for the rationality of belief. Consider his first example. A stranger enters into a conversation with me and during the course of the conversation he utters some proposition which happens to be true, but the mere fact that this proposition happens to be true, Brown argues, provides no ground for accepting it: the problem of rational acceptance of a proposition is always one of finding grounds for believing it true. It is very rare, it may well never be the case that a proposition wears its truth value on its sleeve. (p. 242)

To Brown (1978) the problem of assessing the rationality of a belief is a matter of examining the grounds on which the belief was accepted so that to say that a belief is rational is just to say that it was accepted on the best available evidence. This evidential condition provides Brown with the basis to argue that truth is not necessary for rationality. The example he chooses here is that of the medieval belief that the earth stands still at the centre of the universe. He argues that such a belief was not irrational for it was consistent with “a great mass of empirical data, as well as with the only available system of physics” and he emphasizes that “the alternative view made no sense in terms of existing ideas about the nature of the physical world…” (p. 242). In regard to Brown’s example here it is useful to recall the Gettier-type 1 There

is a vast secondary literature on the private language argument, including standard discussions by Malcolm, Strawson, Rhees, Ayer and others. For a helpful introduction to the issues see Jones (1971). It is noteworthy that while Wittgenstein speaks of language as a “rule-governed” activity he is cautious about the extent to which it is. Compare the following: “The application of a word is not everywhere bounded by rules. A rule stands there like a sign-post” (P.I., 84 & 85); “A person goes by a sign-post only in so far as there exists a regular use of sign-posts, a custom… It is not possible that there should have been only one occasion on which someone obeyed a rule …To obey a rule, to make a report, to give an order ••. are customs (uses, institutions)” (P.I., 198 & 199).

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examples. In Gettier’s (1967) examples a person is rationally justified in holding a belief despite the fact that it is false, and although his original examples have been the subject of much criticism, other counter-examples which stand against the traditional analysis have been offered that seem to overcome objections to the original examples (see Pappas and Swain 1978, pp. 12–18). To return to Brown’s examples, clearly any belief(s) that is arrived at inductively might turn out to be false, but to argue on a priori grounds that, therefore, the class of inductively justified beliefs cannot be rational is to rule out of court a major source of justification of our beliefs about the world, and, thereby, misconstrue the notion of rationality. There is something yet disquieting about Brown’s examples. The notion of a rational belief as one accepted on the “best available evidence” seems to beg the question. One may inquire “‘best’ for what purpose? -‘best’ as an indication of truth? What counts as “the best available evidence” in these circumstances, and how are we to determine it? For Brown, the answer to these questions lies in the adoption of a deliberative model of rationality. There are no algorithms to enable us to identify rationality with the following of strict rules. Given chat “logic and experiment do not unambiguously determine” whether or not a given theory ought to be abandoned, “we must rely on the ability to deliberate and come to a reasoned conclusion 一 without any guarantee that the decision will be the correct one. ..” (pp. 24–25). Practical wisdom intrudes, such that “only those who have sufficient knowledge of the discipline… are capable of deliberating on issues concerning that discipline…” (p. 246). While I would want to defend this deliberative and practical component of the rationality of belief, Brown’s answer seems to by-pass important questions concerning the status of the distinction between reason and experience, the nature of truth and holistic arguments against the isolation and treatment of individual beliefs.2 I shall take up these matters more fully as I proceed, for the moment let us return to the historical story concerning the status of beliefs arrived at on the basis of induction. Part and parcel of the Logical Empiricist movement was to accord a central place to induction as the logic by which theories were seen to be verified by strict observation. The naive inductivist model, for instance, holds that science starts with observation and that statements about the world can be directly verified by impartial or neutral observation. Such singular observation statements, once verified on this model, then provide the basis, given certain other conditions, for generalizations, theories and universal laws which, in turn, enable the scientist to make deductive predictions and explanations. Certainly, the crude depiction I have given of the naive inductivist model cannot be equated with the actual and various positions held by the logical positivists, but even their rather more sophisticated probabilistic versions have been subject to a series of telling criticisms that questioned, among other things, the importance given over to observation and verification against theory in establishing the meaning of statements,3 and the adequacy of the justification of the principle of induction. Both of these criticisms of inductivism and logical positivism have been pursued 2 Although 3 This

it would seem to embrace a consensus view of rationality, it is, ultimately elitist. issue is clearly related to the problems that the notion of basic statements faced.

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by Popper since the 1920s in his attempt to provide an alternative reconstruction of science which did not suffer from the same pitfalls.

(c) Non-Foundationalism—Popper’s Critical Rationalism Popper’s theory of critical rationalism is based on a rejection of both foundationalist theories of knowledge and the justificationist principle that requires knowledge to satisfy the (alleged jointly necessary and sufficient) conditions of certainty and truth. In contrast he develops an account which attempts to rescue scientific rationality while recognizing the criticisms that rationality requires neither certainty nor truth. According to his metatheory, science progresses by a series of conjectures and refutations. It is a method whereby the scientist accepts conjectures or hypotheses from every possible source—for there are no authoritative sources of knowledge—and attempts to refute them by deducing and testing their possible consequences. Popper, for instance, begins Conjectures and Refutations (1963)4 with a lecture he originally gave in 1960, entitled “On the Sources of Knowledge and Ignorance” (pp. 3–30). In that lecture he attacks the doctrine of the foundations of knowledge common to both rationalist and empiricist traditions, arguing on the basis of the infinite regress and theory-laden arguments that the modern empiricist programme of tracing back all knowledge to its ultimate source in observation is logically impossible to carry through (p. 23). Instead, he proposes the thesis that there are all kinds of sources of our knowledge but none has authority (p. 24). However, he embraces the so-called Reichenbachian distinction between contexts of discovery and justification to maintain that “the proper epistemological question is not one about sources; rather we ask whether the assertion made is true— that is to say whether it agrees with the facts” (p. 27). In so arguing Popper is echoing his earlier attempts to eliminate psychologism, for the question of how a new idea or theory occurs is held not to be susceptible to logical analysis and is therefore regarded by Popper as irrelevant to the logical analysis of scientific knowledge. Popper’s conception of science as a method of conjecture and refutation is a direct challenge to the positivist inductive model. He addresses himself to the problem of induction in the opening chapter of The Logic of Scientific Discovery (1959), arguing against Reichenbach, that in order to justify inductive inference we must first be able to establish a principle of induction. He then asks what the status of such a principle might be, and concludes that if it cannot be a logical truth, it must be a synthetic statement. But if it is a synthetic statement, then, on the positivist’s own terms, it is in need of justification. In order to justify such a principle “we should have to employ inductive inferences; and to justify these we should have to assume an inductive principle of a higher order; and so on” (p. 29). He, thus, clearly demonstrates that the attempt to base the principle of induction on experience leads to an infinite 4 Page references given in the text are to the 1974 edition, as is the case for The Logic of Scientific Discovery (1959).

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regress, and the model, accordingly, is deprived of the capacity to defend its own first principle. Furthermore, no probabilistic version will rescue the principle for: If a certain degree of probability is to be assigned to statements based on inductive inference, then this will have to be justified by invoking a new principle of induction, appropriately modified. And this new principle in its turn will have to be justified and so on… In short, like every other form of inductive logic, the logic of probable inference, or ‘probability logic’ leads either to an infinite regress, or to the doctrine of a priorism. (p. 30)

Popper, by contrast, advances a deductive model which, crucially, is based upon an asymmetry between verifiability and falsifiability for whereas universal statements are never derivable from singular statements they can be contradicted by them. In other words, “it is possible by means of purely deductive inferences (with the help of modus tollens of classical logic) to argue from the truth of singular statements to the falsity of universal statements” (p. 41). A rationally justified belief or set of beliefs in Popper’s terms is one that has been subjected to criticism but not yet refuted—although there is always the possibility as a result of further testing and criticism that it will turn out to be false. For Popper, then, the standards of rationality are those of criticism: the dogmatic attitude is clearly related to the tendency to verify our laws and schemata by seeking to apply them and to confirm them, even to the point of neglecting refutations, whereas the critical attitude is one of readiness to change—to test them; to refute them; to falsify them, if possible. This suggests that we may identify the critical attitude with the scientific attitude…. (p. 50)

The logical asymmetry of Popper’s falsification principle not only enables him to cope constructively with the problem of induction which posed insurmountable difficulties for the positivists, but also provides him with a methodological principle which at one and the same time, serves as a criterion of both the demarcation of science from non-science, and its progress. Further, it performs these tasks in a way that avoids the problem of theoretical terms associated with the earlier verificationist principle. In a number of important ways, then, the falsificationist principle is at the heart of Popper’s philosophy of science. These related points call for some elaboration. The verificationist principle originated with the “Vienna Circle” in the 1920s partly out of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (Hanfling 1981). As we have previously seen Wittgenstein had sought to draw a limit to thought by drawing a limit to the significant use of language—one that ultimately attempted to separate “scientific” or fact-stating talk from non-scientific, and especially metaphysical talk. The movement variously known as Logical Empiricism or Logical Positivism, holding sway in philosophy of science for some thirty or so years, was committed to a view of science as the paradigm of rationality by certain (Wittgensteinian-influenced) doctrines it held about the nature of meaning and knowledge. While continuing in the tradition of Empiricism, revitalized by Russell, it represented a new approach to questions of knowledge—they were seen to be correctly reformulated within a theory of meaning: “The question ‘How do I know that p?’ now became secondary to another ‘what does ‘p’ mean?’” (Hanfling 1981, p. 7). In other words, questions of meaning came to be

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construed largely in empiricist terms so that the meaning of “p” was seen as intimately connected with the way in which “p” came to be known or verified. Although the verificationist principle went through a series of formulations—each one successively weakened to incorporate objections raised against it—in its original and most extreme form it maintained that non-tautological propositions are significant if and only if they can be empirically verifiable. It was given perhaps its most famous formulation by the Logical Empiricist, Schlick (1936) Stating the meaning of a sentence amounts to stating the rules according to which the sentence is to be used, and this is the same as stating the way in which it can be verified (or falsified). The meaning of a proposition is its method of verification. (p. 342)

The extreme formulation, however could not accommodate introspective reports, historical or prehistorical statements, and further it banished to the realms of nonsense a variety of sentence types, including the imperative, the interrogative and those used to make promises give verdicts, express decisions and so on. In fact, moral judgements per se were relegated to the sphere of non-significant propositions on this model. Furthermore, questions were raised concerning the status of the principle itself, for on examination it did not seem to be either an empirical generalization or a tautology.5 The Empiricist verificationist principle (or criterion of meaning), thereby became not only a vehicle for distinguishing sense from nonsense but also a means by which science could be clearly separated from non-science. Certain other difficulties arose on this interpretation. If all talk of unobservable entities was to be condemned as meaningless, how were theoretical terms (such as “subatomic particles”, “magnetic fields”, “elasticities of demand” “class structures”) to be specified? On the standard model, an exclusive distinction had been drawn between an observation and a theoretical language. The former was seen as epistemically privileged in that the meanings of observational terms could be specified by direct recourse to sensory experience and observational statements could be verified (or falsified) without reference to the truth or falsity of theoretical terms. This implied a theory-neutrality. On the other hand, it was held that the meanings of theoretical terms could be specified indirectly by being related via correspondence rules to observational terms. The notion of correspondence rules and exactly how they rendered the meanings of theoretical terms underwent a number of formulations, but none, for various technical reasons proved entirely successful. Hempel (1970), for instance, argued in a paper that criticized the standard modes in general, that correspondence rules for the application of scientific terms which are based purely convention, change over time with theoretical advancement and future discoveries in empirical science. A sentence, thus, which is declared “true by convention” and introduced via the correspondence rules is not automatically or by virtue of its conferred status, exempt from any further revision. Further, he raised the question which has proved an insurmountable problem to proponents of the standard model, viz., how the meanings of “new” terms in a theory are to be specified. 5 The successive weakening and modification of the principle of verification is, perhaps, most evident

in the writings of A. J. Ayer.

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One of the greatest challenges to the standard model and to the positivist programme in general came in the form of the “theory-laden” thesis which attacked the distinction between the two languages, the notion of “theory neutrality”, and also therefore the way in which the positivists had envisaged that theoretical terms had got their meanings. Adherents of the “theory-laden” thesis, in a sense, simply invert the positivist die turn that an observation language is epistemically privileged, by arguing that all observation is preceded and influenced by theoretical beliefs and expectations, and that, therefore, observation statements do not constitute a firm, infallible foundation on which scientific knowledge can be constructed. Hanson (1958), for instance, argued that no hard and fast distinction can be drawn between visual experiences and the interpretations we make of them, for interpretation, he maintains, is constitutive of seeing (see also my discussion of Kuhn above). One of the consequences of such an argument is to cast serious doubt on the positivist interpretation of how theoretical terms get their meanings, and further to question the positivist notion of progress in science, for if all observation is theoryladen, then there is no way of deciding between competing theories by reference to brute, uninterpreted data. It must be mentioned that some (e.g., Scheffler 1967) while agreeing with the theory-laden conception, challenge the validity of the moral to be drawn. The “theory-laden” thesis is not injurious to Popper’s account. In fact, he is an ardent supporter of the thesis, and incorporates it into his own model (1959, p. 46). Popper freely admits that observation is theory-laden, and is not worried by claims to the effect that theories cannot be established as true by reference to observational data. For Popper, theories are to be construed as tentative conjectures originating in some problem. The sources of such theories, as we have seen, are not strictly of his concern, although he does mention the importance both of understanding the “problem-situation” and its associated research tradition. What matters most to Popper is the logic of its testing once a theory has been proposed, and falsificationism provides him with that logic. It also provides him with a criterion of demarcation and of progress in science: I shall certainly admit a system as empirical or scientific if it is capable of being tested by experience. These considerations suggest that not the verifiability but the falsifiability of a system is to be taken as the criterion of demarcation. In other words I shall not require of a scientific system that it shall be capable of being singled out, once and for all in a positive sense; but I shall require that its logical form shall be such that it can be singled out by means of empirical tests, in a negative sense: it must be possible for an empirical scientific system to be refuted by experience. (1959, pp. 40–41)

The progress of science then, is not the steady accumulation of observations, but rather “the repeated overthrow of scientific theories and their replacement by better or more satisfactory ones” (1959, p. 215). In other words, science progresses by a series of conjectures and refutations, and we learn by the method of trial and error—an aspect that takes on a greater importance in his later evolutionary account (Popper 1972). Testability by falsification is the criterion of progress for Popper. Popper equates rationality with the critical attitude, but he is a fallibilist for, in his

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terms, we are to look for theories, which, however erroneous, progress beyond their predecessors. The rationality of a theory lies in the fact that we choose it because it can be put to more severe tests than its predecessors; because with the possibility of passing such tests, we may approach nearer the truth. In one sense, Popper is to be construed as believing truth is a more fundamental notion than that of rationality. The force of historicist conceptions of rationality is largely an attack on this assumption. Indeed, it is increasingly common to find in the literature from those of both historicist and non-historicist persuasions that theories of scientific knowledge and rationality are no longer seen as having to offer an account of truth as part and parcel of the defence of the possibility of rational scientific belief. Williams (1977) makes this point clearly: “If the theory of truth is sharply distinguished from the theory of evidence, theories of truth have nothing to tell us about epistemological problems. This is true of Tarski’s theory, the paradigm of modern theories of truth, and also I think of the work in the so-called theory of reference” (fn. 21, p. 60). This may appear a somewhat curious statement in view of Popper’s well-known use of Tarski’ s theory to anchor the notion of correspondence in his own epistemological programme which takes truth as a regulative ideal. Popper clearly sees Tarski’s semantic theory of truth as providing a strong epistemological weighting to the notion of correspondence. “Tarski’s greatest achievement, and the real significance of his theory for the philosophy of the empirical sciences, is that he rehabilitated the correspondence theory of absolute or objective truth which had become suspect. He vindicated the free use of the intuitive idea of truth as correspondence to the facts” (1963, p. 223). Tarski’s own estimation of the epistemological value of his own theory, however, does not square with Popper’s optimism, and tends to support William’s assessment: we may accept the semantic conception of truth without giving up any epistemological attitude we may have had, we may remain naive realists or idealists, empiricists or metaphysicians… The semantic conception is completely neutral toward all these issues. (1944, p. 71)

Sellars (1963), Lehrer (1974), Putnam (1978), Haack (1978), Ellis (1979) and Apel (1980a) all support Tarski’s more modest proposal of the neutral epistemological significance of the semantic theory of truth, as against Popper’s more ambitious assessment.6 All appear to endorse the idea that truth as a purely semantic notion has nothing to say about realism (and it might also be argued, realism has nothing to say about semantics). Typical of this line of argument is the recent statement by Apel. “I do not consider Tarski’s semantical exposition of the meaning of truth for formalized languages as a sufficient basis for a realistic correspondence -theory of truth, as it was considered by Karl Popper and others, but only as an explication of a necessary condition for any philosophical theory of truth that is to account for the possibility of logical implication i.e., of truth-transfer, as it is isolated in formalized semantical systems. Seen in itself, this conception of truth is neutral with regard to 6 See

also Jennings (1983) who argues that the semantic conception of truth is relativistic.

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different ontological or epistemological positions of philosophy as Tarski himself emphasized” (1980a, p. 387). Popper’s extension of Tarski’s ideas in the theory of verisimilitude has been shown to fail in its epistemological application to cases of comparison between theories both of which are false (Miller 1974; Haack 1977). Tarski’s theory what is more, has come in for criticism on grounds that serve to question further its application in epistemology. It has been doubted, for example, whether Tarski’s adequacy conditions, specified in terms of the (T) schema (S is true iff p), can be given independent motivation, or whether, even given Davidson’s (1967, 1973) programme, Tarski’s methods have any philosophically interesting application to the problem of truth for natural languages (Haack 1978, especially pp. 100–102 & 118–127). While Tarski’s theory probably has the greatest currency among contemporary philosophers it also must be remembered that it is but one among a number of competing theories (e.g., coherence, redundancy, pragmatist). If the earlier attempts to define or explicate the notion of rationality and its standards in terms of particular accounts of knowledge is seen as the attempt by philosophers over time, to arrive at a set of ahistorical conditions which render knowledge claims universally and objectively valid, then clearly, judging by the lack of agreement among philosophers themselves, each of these attempts has failed to command general assent, and this is so in spite of a general tendency to relax standards of rationality. Popper’s advance over positivist accounts of science lies, in part, in his assessment that the problem of rationality is separate from the justification problem, and that the former is more fundamental. But Popper, and others who follow him (e.g., Lakatos, see below; Bartley 1962) in abandoning justifiability as the criterion of rational belief and replacing it with that of “criticizability”, though happy with the acceptance of beliefs as rational even if they are neither true nor certain, is still committed to the view that we are rational only when we are behaving in accordance with an algorithm.

(d) The Relevance of the History of Science: Kuhn’s “Paradigms” Where Popper, in his rejection of an inductivist-positivist approach and its justificationist answers, was led to give an account of scientific rationality in terms of a “criticizability” principle, others were led to develop accounts which emphasized that rationality and knowledge are relative to the acceptance of some framework—in part a development of the “theory-laden” thesis. Some, in direct response to the sketch made by Popper, have sought to demonstrate by close examination of the history of science that it is simply not true that scientists work by a method of conjecture and refutation. In particular, Kuhn (1970b) has disputed in general that scientists jettison hypotheses or theories in the face of counterinstances, and what is more, he is directly opposed to Popper’s interpretation of scientific rationality.

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In a sense, to turn Sir Karl’ s view on its head, it is precisely the abandonment of critical discourse that marks the transition to a science. Once a field has made that transition, critical discourse recurs only at moments of crisis when the bases of a field are again in jeopardy. (pp. 6–7)

Kuhn’s project is to characterize the way in which science develops historically and his conclusions challenge both the conception of rationality that Popper proposes, and the basis on which Popper’s programme is carried out, including the distinction between contexts of discovery and justification. Kuhn’s account of science, contra Popper, emphasizes that in normal science, scientists working in a particular field share an unquestioning commitment to certain guiding fundamental metaphysical principles of the dominant paradigm. The notion of a paradigm has come in for a great deal of discussion. One critic has pointed out that Kuhn uses it in not less than twenty-one different senses (Masterman 1970). But since The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1970a) Kuhn has refined this notion, referring to it as a “disciplinary matrix” which is said to incorporate shared symbolic generalizations; models, “whether metaphysical, like atomism, or heuristic, like the hydrodynamic model of the electric circuit”; and values “like the emphasis on accuracy of prediction” (1970b, pp. 271–272). These shared standards account for the relative unanimity among scientists of a specialist field both in the identification and choice of the problems to be studied and in the evaluation of suggested solutions. Thus, most of the time science is normal in the conservative sense that scientists accept the paradigm under which they are working, unquestioningly, and get on with the normal work of solving puzzles within its boundaries.7 Should a scientist fail to solve a puzzle, the failure, Kuhn suggests is taken to be more a reflection of the individual scientist than the paradigm, for given the “theory-laden” thesis, there is no possibility of appealing to uninterpreted “brute” data by which to call into question the paradigm itself. Accordingly, Kuhn argues, there are no universal or objective criteria by which either to compare or to choose between success in a given field. Theories are incommensurable, in that the relevant their assessment are part of the shared nature and thus are internal to it (1970a, p. 267). There are, however, periods of revolutionary science where the scientist’s allegiance to the old paradigm ceases, and a fresh commitment to a new emergent paradigm is made. This typically occurs when the old paradigm’ s conceptual resources are exhausted—when certain puzzles that seem to remain resistant to solution within it (termed “anomalies”) begin to pile up. The change from one paradigm to another is not to be characterized in terms of proof or error. Paradigm shifts are seen by the early Kuhn as “conversion experiences” that cannot be forced. Resistance to change is not a violation of the standards of scientific rationality but an index to its nature. In a debate over choice of theory, neither party has access to an argument which resembles a proof in logic or mathematics…[theory-choice is made] by recourse to persuasion as a prelude to the possibility of proof”, [and] to name persuasion as the scientist’s recourse is not 7A

mature science is held to be governed by a single paradigm.

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to suggest that there are not many good reasons for choosing one theory rather than another [but rather that such reasons as accuracy scope, simplicity and fruitfulness] constitute values to be used in making choices rather than rules of choice. Scientists who share them may nevertheless make different choices in the same concrete situation. (1970b, pp. 260–262)

In one sense, then, Kuhn might be construed as “sociologizing” epistemology. Indeed, in characterizing scientific rationality and, in particular the activity of theorychoice, Kuhn turns to sociology and psychology. Ultimately, we are driven to sociological and psychological explanations in terms of a description of a value system or an ideology. Analyses of the institutions through which such systems are transmitted and enforced will elucidate both the problems scientists select and the choices they make in conflict situations. It certainly appears that at this point we are faced with two incompatible “paradigms”; the logical approach advocated by Popper and Lakatos and the psychological-historical approach advocated by Kuhn, and other “historicists”. In this regard it is interesting to note the attempts by Sneed (1977) and Stegmuller (1977) to formalize Kuhn’s work, and to bridge the gap between the two seemingly incompatible paradigms. Their structuralist theory concept which construes theories as products of scientific communities is a reaction against the “statement view” of theories. Against the “statement view” which interprets theories as classes of sentences, they argue that theories stand in much the same relation of acts of holding a theory as do linguistic products to speech acts, and indicate that the concept of “holding a theory” can be used to explicate the notion of normal science, such that if several persons hold the same theory they will be said to be long to the same normal scientific tradition8 The structuralist theory concept they believe has several advantages over the “statement view” including the fact that it copes with the problem of “recalcitrant experience”, and permits the introduction of a concept of progress which also covers revolutionary cases; but perhaps most importantly “it removes the danger of falling into a rationality monism, and, thus, into the rationality rut of assuming that there could be but one single source of scientific rationality” (Stegmuller 1977, p. 272). In part, Kuhn’s approach involves an attack on the distinction between contexts of discovery and justification—a distinction which, it is implied, is a legacy of positivist epistemology. On the basis of this distinction, standardly, epistemological questions are divorced from psychological and historical ones, and epistemology, in general, is seen as a normative discipline concerned only with the way in which reasoning should proceed. Both the distinction and the conception of epistemology to which it belongs has been (and is still often) employed to sanction a radical separation between the sciences on the one hand and philosophy on the other. Kuhn’s position is clear, for although he states at one point that having been weaned on this distinction and others like it, he could scarcely overlook its importance, in the attempt to apply 8 Compare this structuralist theory concept with the Althusserian notion of “problematic”, mentioned

in the previous chapter. The forme r displays certain advantages over the latter in that it does not suffer the problems arising from obliterating the knowing agent (or knowing community), and thus, of being able to account for epistemic progress.

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it in actual situations the distinction has seemed extraordinarily problematic. Kuhn writes: “Rather than being elementary logical or methodological distinctions, which would thus be prior to the analysis of scientific knowledge, they now seem integral parts of a traditional set of substantive answers to the very questions upon which they have been deployed” (1970a, p. 9). The original point of the Reichenbachian (1938) distinction was to prevent social and psychological considerations which are taken to include non-rational elements, from contaminating the evaluation and construction of scientific knowledge. To give up the distinction would be, it seems, for Popper and other rationalists to give up the possibility of rationally deciding between competing theories. The force of Kuhn’s arguments and his historical examples, against Popper, is to point out that in order to give a satisfactory account of the growth of scientific knowledge we must take into account the context of discovery (see my discussion below). Although Popper has rejected inductivism, and the justificationist answer in general, he has not relinquished his hold on the positivist distinction, nor obviously his belief in the existence of an algorithm which will allow us to compute with certainty when a given claim or theory has been disproven. Kuhn has, repeatedly, addressed himself to this criticism of Popper. [Popper] has, despite explicit disclaimers consistently sought evaluation procedures which can be applied to theories with the apodictic assurance characteristic of the techniques by which one identifies mistakes in arithmetic, logic or measurement… Both ‘falsification’ and ‘refutation’ are antonyms of ‘proof’. They are drawn principally from logic and from formal mathematics; the chains of argument to which they apply end with a .Q.E.D..; invoking these terms implies the ability to compel assent from any member of the relevant professional community. …however… where a whole theory of often even a scientific law is at stake, arguments are seldom apodictic. All experiments can be challenged, either as to their relevance or accuracy. All theories can be modified by a variety of ad hoc adjustments without ceasing to be, in their main lines, the same theories. (1970b, p. 13)

Kuhn concludes, after an examination of the difficulties faced by the notion of falsification, that Popper has supplied us with an ideology rather than a logic, a set of procedural maxims rather than methodological rules. This is not to say that Kuhn’s argument has been accepted without criticism. Scheffler (1967) attempts to preserve the distinction between contexts of discovery and justification, arguing that although terms in competing theories may have different senses, nevertheless they may refer to the same things. His defence turns on whether the sense-reference distinction can be usefully applied to the problem. Underlying the Reichenbachian distinction and the related attempt to find an algorithm for rational theory-choice, is the assumption that questions of form and of methodology are not discoverable in the same ways that “facts” are. Only if questions of form are radically separated from content is it possible to regard them as prior to science. The distinction of the notion of an algorithm, and the assumption on which it rests, however, increasingly have come in for closer scrutiny and criticism.

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Feyerabend, in particular, criticizes the notion of an algorithm as a universally applicable rule. He begins on similar grounds to Kuhn: a contextual view that theories are holistic that the meaning of theoretical terms cannot by recourse to a pretheoretical observation the incommensurability thesis. The force is directed against critical rationalism and notion that the use of a set of methodological rules is a necessary and sufficient condition of rationality: wherever we look, whatever examples we consider we see that the principles of critical rationalism (take falsifications seriously; increase content; avoid ad hoc hypotheses; “be honest” - whatever that means and so on)9 and, a fortiori, the principles of logical empiricism (be precise; base your theories on measurement; avoid vague and unstable ideas and so on), give an inadequate account of the past development of science and are liable to hinder science in the future. (1975, p. 179)

Feyerabend is at pains to point out that there is no single rule that remains valid under all circumstances, and that progress in science, on occasions, actually depends upon “reason being over-ruled” or eliminated, on similar grounds to Kuhn, and utilizes his conclusions are anything but similar, proliferation of competing theories in an epistemological anarchism which is both designed to protect diversity and to offset the dangers associated with members of a dominant and entrenched paradigm interpreting aberrant “evidence” in a self-generating dogmatism. Toulmin, as we noted earlier, is a long-standing critic of the rationality-logicality equation and supportive of the separation of questions of rationality from questions which are exclusively to do with logic. We must begin… by recognizing that rationality is an attribute not of logical or conceptual systems as such, but of human activities or enterprises of which particular sets of concepts are the temporary cross-sections: specifically, of the procedures by which the concepts, judgements and formal systems currently accepted in those enterprises are criticized and changed. (1972, p. 133)

Toulmin presents an evolutionary account of scientific change which by its very nature dispenses with individual laws and theories as the principle elements of discussion and concentrates on much larger units of analysis—research traditions. Others too have concentrated on the developmental dimensions of rationality by examining larger units of analysis. Recently, Laudan (1977) has proposed a problem-solving account which links rationality to the progress of scientific research traditions ostensibly “without presupposing anything about the veracity or verisimilitude of the theories we judge to be rational or irrational” (p. 125).9 The move to examine larger and larger units of analysis, given impetus by the import of the various historicist methodologies is one of the more significant tendencies in contemporary philosophy of science. Quine’s attack on the analytic-synthetic distinction, Sellars’ attack on the “given”, and the combined assault of Hanson, Kuhn and Feyerabend on the theory-observation 9 Siegel

(1983) argues against both Toulmin~ and Laudan’s construals of rationality in terms of problem-solving ability, and, in particular, the alleged truth-independence of rationality. Siegel does not, however, examine arguments for such truth-independence from the philosophy of logic.

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distinction, led many to accept a position of theoretical holism in the rise of a “postempiricist” philosophy which emphasizes that the meanings of terms are determined by their logical relations with other terms in a theory. Given that there is no absolute pre-theoretical observation language which can serve as the rational basis for the belief that any term is meaningful by virtue of its immediate relation with the world, some have argued that it is the whole theory which is assessed for correspondence with the world. These “realist” philosophies of science (e.g., Putnam 1975) can be considered in part a reaction against an alleged Kuhnian/Feyerabendian “idealism” which, on the basis of the incommensurability thesis, was interpreted as suggesting that nothing really existed apart from conceptual frameworks—that there was no longer any meaning-independent way of picking out objects in the world. Such “realist” philosophies became associated with the demand for a “theory of reference” which did not depend on the logical machinery Quine had dismantled. Rorty (1980) maintains that these criticisms of “idealism” are largely misdirected. It is one thing to say (absurdly) that we make objects by using words and something quite different to say that we do not know how to find a way of describing an enduring matrix of past and future inquiry into nature except in our own terms… (p. 276).10

For others, the arguments advanced by Quine, Sellars, Kuhn and Feyerabend have become a severe criticism of the traditional “representational” view of language that has dominated epistemology and they have been led to accept a coherentist or historicist account of knowledge and/or a fully fledged relativism. Central to these latter philosophies is the rejection of the traditional ahistorical justificationist account of knowledge and rationality, and an acceptance of the view that knowledge and rationality are relative to the acceptance of some framework. Somewhat across partisan lines, however, it has been argued by members of opposing schools that in assessing scientific rationality, we must move to even larger frameworks than theories, on the understanding that theories themselves are part of larger “traditions”, and that an understanding of the evolution of these larger traditions is indispensable to a proper assessment of the theories embedded in them. In one sense this movement to larger and larger contexts may be viewed as the logical and historical outcome of a Wittgensteinian set of arguments for “holism”. Arguments for the indispensability of larger traditions in theory assessment are necessarily arguments for the relevance of the history of science in the characterization of scientific rationality, though the exact scope of such relevance is a much disputed question. Kuhn’s notion of the “paradigm” can be construed as one interpretation of these larger-than-a-theory contexts. Another that has played a significant role in contemporary philosophy of science, is Lakatos’ “scientific research programmes”.

10 See also his discussion of Putnam, and the “idealist” charges levelled against Kuhn and Feyerabend

(pp. 273ff).

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(e) Lakatos’ Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes Lakatos develops his central notion of a research programme, in part, to overcome the problems of Popper’s falsificationism, and, in part, to de-sociologize Kuhn’s paradigms. It is not surprising therefore that his work bears close resemblances, at different points, to both Kuhn’s and Popper’s.11 Lakatos’ strategy is to separate out two positions originally conflated in Popper’s logic of scientific discovery. The first he calls “naive methodological falsificationism”; the second “sophisticated methodological falsificationism”. He admits that while Kuhn’s criticisms are successfully directed against the former they do not affect the latter (Popper’s genuine position), which he further attempts to strengthen. The two positions differ both in terms of the rules of acceptance and of falsification. Whereas for the “naive” position, any theory which can be interpreted as experimentally falsifiable is acceptable, and is falsified when an observational statement conflicts with it, for the “sophisticated” position certain other conditions must be met. A theory is acceptable in this case only if it has corroborated excess empirical content over its predecessor, that is, only if it leads to the discovery of novel facts, and it is falsified, if and only if another theory T, has been proposed with the following characteristics: (1) T1 has excess empirical content over T (i.e., the acceptability criterion); (2) T1 explains the previous success of T (i.e., all the unrefuted content of T is contained in the content of); and (3) Some of the excess content of is corroborated (1970, p. 16). But still one step further is required, so Lakatos maintains, to be able to rationally solve the problems raised by Kuhn and others against the “naive” position. Earlier it was noted that no experimental result can ever conclusively falsify a theory for it could always be saved either by a reinterpretation, or by adding some auxiliary hypothesis. Part of Kuhn’s and Feyerabend’s programmes led to the conclusion that these “saving adjustments” to the theory could not be characterized in formal terms. Lakatos’ innovation is to argue that only by moving to larger units than the individual theory can we appraise it together with its auxiliary hypotheses and its theory rivals, to see whether the sorts of adjustments made are rationally progressive or not.

11 Musgrave (1976) notes what he considers to be the two major epistemological differences between

Lakatos and Kuhn. The first he calls proliferation. “Lakatos urges the necessity of competing research programmes and claims that what Kuhn calls ‘normal science’ is ‘nothing but a research programme that has achieved monopoly’” (fn2, p. 489). The second he terms objectivity, which is simply the belief in objective criteria for appraising competing research programmes. See also Toulmin (1976) for the similarities he sees between his own project (1972), and Lakatos’, though Lakatos would be horrified. Lakatos (1978) was writing a review of Toulmin (1972) at the time of his death in 1974. His essay (the last, longest and uncompleted version), constitutes a sketch of three major traditions (scepticism, demarcationism and elitism) in their approach to the problem of appraising scientific theories ~ a polemical attack on Wittgenstein; and “Toulmin’s Darwinian synthesis of Hegel and Wittgenstein”.

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Sophisticated falsificationism…shifts the problem of how to appraise theories to the problem of how to appraise series of theories. Not an isolated theory, but only a series of theories can be said to be scientific or unscientific s to apply the term ‘scientific’ to one single theory is a category mistake. (1970, p. 119)

The series of theories is, then, represented by the framework of a methodology of a research programme which stresses the continuity among successive theories—an aspect of Lakatos’ programme which is reminiscent of Kuhn’s “normal science” (1970, p. 132). Thus, a research programme, in Lakatosian terms, undergoes a progressive problem-shift. at the theoretical level, if each new theory has some excess empirical content over its predecessor (i.e., if it predicts some novel fact) and, at the empirical level, if some of this excess empirical content is also corroborated (i.e., if each new theory leads to the actual discovery of some new fact); and it undergoes a degenerating problem-shift if it does neither. The theoretical version provides Lakatos with a criterion of demarcation, whereas the empirical version provides him with a criterion of progress. His next move is to fortify the concept of research programme. He distinguishes between the negative and the positive heuristics of a programme, where the former is characterized by a shared commitment by its adherents to the basic assumptions underlying the programme (its hard core), and the latter by the methodological rules for the development of the programme in future research. The negative heuristic of the programme forbids us to direct the modus tollens at this ‘hard core’. Instead, we must use our ingenuity to articulate or even invent auxiliary hypotheses, which form a protective belt around this core and we must redirect the modus tollens to these. It is this protective belt of auxiliary hypotheses which has to bear the brunt of tests and get adjusted and readjusted, or even completely replaced, to defend the thus-hardened core. (p. 133)

Lakatos wants to argue that we can “rationally decide not to allow ‘refutations’ to transmit falsity to the hard core as long as the corroborated empirical content of the protecting belt of auxiliary hypotheses increases”. Each step of the research programme, then, must be consistently content-increasing, that is, each step must undergo a consistently progressive theoretical problem shift and, so Lakatos maintains, all we need in addition to this is that at least every now and then the increase in content should be seen to be retrospectively corroborated: the programme as a whole should also display an intermittently progressive empirical shift. It follows that if and when the programme ceases to anticipate novel facts, its hard core might have to be abandoned. (p. 134)

The positive heuristic consists of suggestions of how to change and develop the “refutable variants” and how to modify and sophisticate the refutable protective belt. It further determines which problems scientists “rationally” choose, and thereby accounts for the relative autonomy of science at the theoretical level. It is clear, therefore, that Lakatos believes that it is possible on his account to rescue “scientific rationality” from the problem of “rational” theory-choice implied by the incommensurability thesis, although he also notes against the justificationists,

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probabilists and naive falsificationists, that “rationality works much slower than most people think, and, even then, fallibly” (p. 174). Lakatos, then, is not a proponent of “instant rationality” (on his own admission), nor can he be, for he has introduced the temporal dimension into programme choice by “historicizing” the unit of appraisal and analysis. The history of science is, therefore, the history of competing research programmed.12 Yet in spite of this move Lakatos (1970) still holds that objective reasons can be given to reject one research programme and to adopt another: once a programme can explain the previous success of its predecessor and supersede it by a further display of heuristic power, we have rational grounds to reject one and choose the other. The matter, however, is not as tidy or as unequivocal as Lakatos makes out for it is not clear what methodological of heuristic consequences follow, and a number of problems to do with rational programme choice reappear with its timing. Musgrave (1976) maintains that Lakatos gradually reduced the extent to which his methodology issues in advice to scientists (p. 475). The only piece of advice Lakatos is willing to offer is “be honest”, although, as Musgrave (1976) notes, Lakatos’ position here depends on a radical separation of questions of methodology from those of heuristics.13 Lakatos employs this distinction in response to the time limit criticism from Feyerabend (see below). The effect of it is as Musgrave (1976) points out, ultimately, to deprive Lakatos’ standards of practical force. Problems with the timing of research programmes take two forms. On the one hand, older—somewhat degenerating—research programmes may be rejuvenated, and, on the other, younger or budding programmes are not to be discarded simply because they have so far failed to overtake a powerful rival (see Lakatos 1970, p. 154f.). It seems it is only in the long run, with a good deal of hindsight and historical knowledge, that we can ever eliminate a research programme. Lakatos’ criterion of such relative progressiveness has led Feyerabend to claim convincingly that the standards Lakatos provides are to be construed “as a verbal ornament, as a memorial to happier times when it was still thought possible to run a complex and often catastrophic, business like science by following a few simple and ‘rational’ rules” (1970, p. 215). Feyerabend maintains that with the introduction of a time limit the argument against naive falsificationism reappears with only minor modifications: if we are permitted to wait, why not wait a little longer? He concludes that Lakatos’ standards are either vacuous or they can be criticized on grounds very similar to those which led to them in the first place (p. 215). It seems as though any attempt to capture the “rationality” of theory or programme choice in strictly formal terms by providing an algorithm runs into practical difficulties in its application. Once the temporal dimension is fully introduced into the picture, purely formal notions of rationality run into trouble. Algorithms which allegedly allow us to compute with certainty when to give up on one programme and adopt another both deny conceptual revision and, seemingly, are unable to deliver 12 Both

the term (“historicize”) and the point are due to McMullin (1976). (1976) develops a deductive argument for the sort of heuristic advice that would entail devoting more energy to one programme over another.

13 Musgrave

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heuristic advice when it counts most. In one sense this desire for algorithmic certainty can be seen as a continuation of the traditional search for certainty shown by the earlier foundationalists. The belief in certainty of knowledge foundations has been replaced by the belief in an algorithmic certainty. Yet, significantly, no one algorithm (or set) has passed the testing criticism of the philosophical community to gain anything approaching unanimous assent. The position which demands algorithmic certainty, what is more, is a position that is set up on a set of dualistic presuppositions (an immediate legacy of the positivist tradition though ultimately traceable to the Cartesian-Kantian problematic). It assumes a radical separation between scheme and content; between the method of science and its content; between the formal and the informal; between judgement and action; between questions of justification and questions of the evolution of scientific practice; between, as in the case of Lakatos, questions of methodology and those of heuristics. Yet these dualisms are conventionally postulated as part of an absolutist/ahistorical epistemology. If we accept that the method of science changes in accordance with changes in the content of science,14 accounts of rationality in purely formal terms are denied their universality, or they must build in a genuinely temporal component. The latter option might well be seen to be dependent both on the development and application of suitable non-standard logics, and on prior questions in the philosophy of logic concerning whether logic is regarded as autonomous and prior to science, or regarded alternatively as continuous with it and open to conceptual revision and change as is science itself. The suggestion that purely formal notions of rationality depend upon, or presuppose prior notions of informal rationality involving (non-universalizable) “commonsense”, “intelligence”, “imagination” and “creativity” which intrudes in the judgements of individual scientists in particular cases (Putnam 1978), does not necessarily imply that there is no such thing as scientific method, or that it has shaped and determined scientific inquiry in the past. It does imply, however, that a formal account of scientific method can never fully capture the nature of rationality “to serve as its very definition”. Such an argument concerning the relation of formal and informal notions of rationality might be used to imply that science is continuous with other activities, and that ultimately it cannot be radically separated from the everyday cultural context from the “stream of life”. Other criticisms of Lakatos’ model have focused on the logical difficulties involved in the attempt to compare the content between theories. Feyerabend (1970), for instance, claims that while “incommensurable” theories can be refuted by reference to their own respective kinds of experience, their content cannot be compared: “Nor is it possible to make a judgement of verisimilitude except within the confines of a particular theory” (pp. 227–228).

14 McMullin (1976) argues that changes in philosophy of science (and methodology) actually follow

from changes in science, rather than vice versa, or as traditionally supposed, that questions in the philosophy of science are prior to those in science.

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Still other criticisms have been raised concerning whether Lakatos’ model captures the nature of actual theory transition in science; and, in particular, it has been pointed out that successor theories do not, in general, capture all the successes of their earlier siblings (see Laudan 1976).

(f) The “Historicist” Turn: New Directions Such specific criticisms as those above give rise to a set of problematic questions concerning the role of historical factors in the assessment of scientific theories in general, and ultimately, to what might seem an even more problematic set concerning the role of history in assessing rival philosophies of science themselves. Certainly as regards the first set, it is clear that Lakatos appeals to the history of science to defend his account, but given that it is a rational reconstruction— one, that is, that preserves the positivist distinction between contexts of discovery and justification—it is not at all clear how examples from the history of science can logically bear either on Lakatos’ account or its assessment, over and above internally consistent rival accounts. Even assuming a satisfactory answer to the problem of how to “test” normative methodologies against descriptive, empirico-historical accounts could be given while preserving the old dichotomy, a further crucial problem is generated, for although we may sanction the appeal to historical examples of “successful” or “good” science in order to help decide between competing methodologies, the very identification of those examples would seem to presuppose a logically prior methodology of history, which in turn, at least on any “objectivist” account, would seem to presuppose a set of external or independent epistemological standards requiring further justification and so on ad infinitum. The distinction, and with it the associated idea that the evidential evaluation of theories is an ahistorical process, as we have seen, has been seriously questioned by a number of authors including Hanson, Kuhn and Feyerabend. Furthermore, the recent evolutionary accounts of Toulmin (1972) and Laudan (1977), which indicate that the methodological rules characteristic of scientific rationality change through time, indicate a reassessment of the distinction. It is clear, at least, that their attempts to break the identification of rationality with logicality and justificationism, leaves open the possibility for construing a place for scientific discovery in discussions of scientific rationality. It is not within my scope to give any detailed account of arguments for and against this distinction, but I hope to indicate by reference to some recent work in philosophy of science that the earlier challenges to it have not been forgotten and that the notion of scientific discovery as an aspect of scientific rationality has continued to attract philosophical interests. Cohen and Wartofsky (1980) in their editorial preface to a recent collection of essays devoted to the issues of discovery, logic and rationality in science, begin by noting a renewal of interest in the notion of scientific discovery. Once consigned to the domain of “the intractable, the ineffable, the inscrutable” as a result of the programme

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of logical reconstruction carried out by logical positivists and empiricists the notion of discovery has re-emerged, providing a possible explanatory locus for the origins of scientific change and theory replacement. The present interest, they maintain, is not an isolated occurrence but, in actuality, represents a continuing (though in recent times, background) tradition associated with such names as Bacon, Whewell, Peirce, Mach, Meyerson, Poincare, Brunschvicg, Lalande, Whitehead and more recently with Polya, Hadamard and Polanyi (p. v). That there is such a tradition is firmly established, but the interpretation of its significance is not so straightforward, Laudan (1980), for instance, maintains that discovery was considered an important philosophical topic only insofar as its “logics” were, in fact, logics of justification, and that the manner by which a theory or hypothesis is first conceived was and still is irrelevant to its justification (pp. 173– 184). Nickles (1980) in an introductory essay disagrees with Laudan’s analysis (see pp. 5ff.), and presents an account sympathetic to “friends of discovery” which attempts to make room for a philosophically interesting notion of discovery by encouraging us to take a broader conception of methodology: One need not go so far as to deny the relevance of questions of justification to the rationality issue (or vice versa) to suppose that what scientists do in trying to discover new theories and problem solutions might also be relevant to an adequate account of rationality, and even to an adequate account of justification,.. What several generations of philosophers seem to have missed is that an adequate methodology of discovery may be crucial to, and even inseparable from, an adequate methodology of justification even though, in scientific practice, having a logic of discovery is not necessary for (a logic or a methodology of) justification. (pp. 6–7)

In reviewing the standard distinction he notes that Reichenbach’s original dichotomy does not imply that the normative/critical mode of discourse is inapplicable to innovative behaviour (p. 18). Further, his summary review of the criticisms levelled at the distinction is instructive: it is “muddled” by being formulated in different ways by different writers, and the boundary between the things distinguished becomes rather arbitrary; closer inspection reveals a cluster of related distinctions designed to perform different tasks and no one distinction will do all the work required of the standard distinction—the individual distinctions are not “absolute” but contextdependent; finally “the replacement of the old, ‘absolute’ distinction by a number of context-specific distinctions removes a prop from the traditional epistemology and opens up a period of trying to recast epistemology along more contextual lines” (pp. 18–19).15 The old question of whether there is a logic of discovery is misleading for it suggests that logic is a central issue and that the debate concerns one isolated stage of scientific research. One of the more current developments, so Nickles (1980) maintains, is a movement away from the simple vocabulary of “discovery” and “justification” to a vocabulary which differentiate several phases of each side of the traditional distinction. 15 See

also, Annis (1978) for a contextualist theory of epistemic justification.

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Thus, “discovery” is viewed in terms of a three-phase process involving the generation pursuit and acceptance of a theory, and “justification” is seen in terms of a final phase (the update version of the traditional theory of justification) and a prior phase variously termed “preliminary evaluation” and “prior assessment” (which can be identified with the discovery phase, “pursuit”). Nickles borrows Rorty’ s term “de-transcendentalize”, which is taken to eventually result in the general blurring of those traditional distinctions on which philosophy-as-epistemology is based (i.e., logic-fact, structure-content, atemporal essence-historical accident theory-practice, philosophy-non-philosophy).16 The context-dependent approach to the distinction represents the attempt to move away from seeing or trying to locate discovery or justification at just one temporal stage of inquiry, and Nickles warns us that the separation of “generation” from “preliminary evaluation”: must not lead anyone to make the mistake of assuming that generation is therefore devoid of all evaluation and presumably an irrational act. This would simply reinvoke the old discovery/justification distinction in a manner that begs the question and closes inquiry. (1980, p. 22)

There is much else in Nickles’ essay that is both deserving of comment and relevant to our concerns, especially his description of the move from the emphasis on logic to that on rationality in contemporary philosophy of science (see pp. 38–43), but limitations on space must preclude any further considerations, of his views. I began this chapter with the attempt to show that our conceptions of rationality (and its standards) have changed as what have been taken to be acceptable accounts of our knowledge have changed, and that, in large measure, as a result of the sceptical challenge to absolutism, ahistoricism and justificationism, our standards of rationality have become further and further divorced from traditional accounts of knowledge as entailing certainty and truth. This exercise has now been carried out. The apparent drift of the historical methodologies in philosophy of science has been to progressively widen the notion of rationality at the expense of various foundationalist and logicist programmes with their concern for truth and certainty, and for setting up a priori “a permanent and neutral framework for all inquiry”. It would be a mistake, however, to think of these historical methodologies as offering one agreed upon account of scientific rationality, for as we have seen there are significant differences that divide, say, Lakatos from Feyerabend, or Kuhn from Toulmin. Any serious assessment of these methodologies depends upon a recognition of their differences, as well as of their similarities. McMullin (1979) distinguishes three different kinds of historicism in philosophy of science, which are all associated with taking the temporal dimension seriously. He expresses these kinds in an ascending order of “strength” as follows: “[H1 ]: Scientific theories are historical entities and not just atemporal sets of propositions;

16 For

some, it seems, such a “de-transcendentalization” makes room for sociology/psychology of knowledge theses (see fn 70, p. 55).

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[H2 ]: History of science provides an indispensable warrant for epistemological claims about the nature of science; [H3 ]: Scientific rationality is itself historical in character”. (p. 57)

He then begins to explore their logical relations. H1 is logically independent of the other two for “to take the unit for appraisal in science to be a historical entity in no way commits one on whether or not historical evidence should serve as a basis for the philosophy of science”. Further, H3 presupposes H2 for “it seems unlikely that one would arrive at the notion of a changing rationality in science unless one were to rely on the testimony of history”; and might seem to suggest some form of “since if the warrant of history is relevant to our understanding of scientific rationality, it would appear that this rationality is itself a shifting affair” (p. 76). The last inference should be treated cautiously, maintains McMullin, as few defenders seem to have gone on to discuss, let along defend. While most philosophers wish to rely on the testimony of history in the evidential evaluation of theories, they commonly also assume that implicit rationality is an underlying constant. McMullin (1979) distinguishes two versions each of H2 and H3. Let us in each case differentiate between the conservative (H2c; H3c) and the radical (H2r; H3r) versions. H2c is based on the notion of “implicit rationality” (i.e., the considerations that in our view account retrospectively for the success of a theory), while H2r is based on the notion of “explicit rationality” (i.e., the considerations that actually guide scientific judgement)” and which, accordingly, represents a stronger involvement in history. H3c and H3r adopt a notion of explicit rationality, but the former takes it to be gradually and progressively revealed over time, whereas the latter views it as radically context-dependent (pp. 68–72).

It is clear that the historicism, “objectivists” like Scheffler (1967) fear and oppose is directed at H3r , for H3c is compatible with an overall objectivist approach, H3c implies that the criteria for assessing theories have become, and still might become more and more sophisticated and “successful” as scientists continue to learn from the past, and as they face new research possibilities and problems in the future. It further suggests that there is a norm of rational procedure on which the history of science is converging, and that this norm cannot be justified in terms of some transcendental logic (pp. 71–72). H3r , by contrast, is not compatible with an objectivist approach for it implies an incommensurability, and discontinuity between episodes in the history of science such that criteria used for assessing theories in one context, will not necessarily be applicable in another. It suggests not only an “irremediable subjectivity” in scientific judgements but also questions the possibility of talking sensibly about progress in science (pp. 71–73). If the various types of historicism do not constitute a single inter-related set of doctrines, what then wields them together under a single label? McMullin suggests that apart from their obvious and shared commitment in taking temporality seriously in science, the common ingredient is that: “all three… are antithetical to logicism in its classical form, and so it could be argued that what binds together this mixture of history-related doctrines is a common rejection of classical logicism” (p. 77), Yet this assessment of their commonality seems to underplay their continuity, interaction and the internal dialectical development of the commitment to the notion,

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variously expressed, that the history of an idea, or theory, or programme, is significant for its appraisal and analysis. Even on the data and arguments that McMullin puts forward, it seems promising to construe historicism as something approaching a Lakatosian research programme at the meta-level. Thus, the negative heuristic and hard-core of such a programme might be seen to consist of a shared commitment to taking the notion of temporality seriously—to the notion that the history of an idea or theory or research programme is necessary in some sense for its appraisal and analysis—and to a rejection of classical logicism. The positive heuristic could be seen to consist in a series of successively stronger (and “refutable”) theses (H1 through to H3 with their variations) which indicate directions for future research. The problem to be explained is, given the hard core, whether a coherent account of rationality can be developed which both avoids the pitfalls of the earlier logicist accounts while at the same time, does justice to the “successes” of science by reference to the way it actually proceeds. The progressiveness of the programme is linked to the attempt to explicate a notion of rationality in science. Where the earlier attempts understand that an implicit rationality to have come into operation about 1800, and in a marriage of convenience with the history of science, seek a rational reconstruction of certain inter-subjectively valid criteria by reference to what are generally taken to be “successful” episodes in science; the latter attempts openly call into question the logicist notion of implicit rationality, suggesting and investigating the way in which scientific rationality is, itself, historical in character. Such a construal faces a number of problems, some of which derive from the short-comings of the original Lakatosian programme, and a set of additional ones which result from its application at the meta-level. I shall briefly mention here one of each sort. First, the construal faces the same problems associated with Lakatos’ break with Popper’s anti-inductivism in his appeal to historical examples as a means of confirming his account. Thus, the notion of progressiveness must make use of examples, inductively established, and although a wider notion of rationality might sanction an inductivism, the actual identification and description of such examples already takes place within a theoretical matrix. Problems with inductivism, and with the old theory/observation distinction, then, reappear at the meta-level. Second, it is not as though each of H1 , H2 and H3 have been held successively, or in any strict sense, developed progressively with each “new” version embodying the findings or results of earlier versions. Rather, the situation seems to be that all three theses, or variants of them, are currently held and argued for. This, in itself, might not be thought to constitute an insurmountable problem for an objection to the original Lakatosian thesis focuses on its inability to capture the actual nature of theory transition in science. Perhaps here, philosophers of science have something to learn from the nature of their own discipline regarding the generation, pursuit and acceptance of theories or programmes and their transition?

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(g) Postscript: Educational Theory and the “Historicist” Turn There has been no shortage of philosophical talk (or metatheory) concerning the nature and status of educational theory in recent times. Since the traditional conception of educational theory was discarded under the influence of the analytic paradigm,17 there has been a steady stream of articles and books expressing doubts about the relation and relevance of such theory for educational practice, and, more radically, questioning whether educational theory actually exists in any reputable form. More recently still, under the influence of developments in philosophy of science, some authors have proposed new models for educational research. A salient characteristic of the discussion over the nature and status of educational theory is the way much of it revolves around the problematic notion of rationality, and how participants construe it in association with various conceptions of science (both natural and social), and of philosophy that they put forward, In one sense, the debate over the nature and status of educational theory can be seen as the consequence of different commitments or allegiances to particular conceptions of science or of philosophy. In the more recent Australian, British and American literature these conceptions echo or reflect developments in philosophy more generally as much as they do developments within philosophy of education. They, therefore, provide us with an historical perspective, in microcosm, of those developments. This is a point that should not be taken lightly for it indicates general support for the historical thesis I have been maintaining all along—the importance of an historical context for analysing and appraising a theory or programme. It also constitutes a general application of a variant of the theory-laden conception as it operates in philosophy of education to influence the commitments of members of the community in their allegiance to a particular conception of science or philosophy.18 In this section I shall briefly sketch some of these developments, and following that, point out some implications of the historicist turn in philosophy of science for educational theory and research. The basis of contemporary discussion of the nature and status of educational theory can be found in the Hirst–O’Connor debate. The issues that divide Hirst from O’Connor revolve around two incompatible conceptions of educational theory. O’Connor (1957, 1973), wedded to a standard positivist sketch, argues that if there is such a thing as educational theory, it cannot be anything but a “scientific” theory, and he is sceptical of such a possibility. Hirst (1966, 1973), in reply, argues that educational theory must be seen as a theory of practice for it is required as a guide to our educational activities and, therefore, must be concerned with determining educational ends as well as means. On Hirst’s model such theory necessarily includes 17 Traditional

“theory” based on the systems of Plato, Rousseau, etc., was seen to involve an admixture of different sorts of claims (metaphysical, epistemological and prescriptive). 18 Further, it is a position which accords education a special and important role in the examination of the formation and development of these allegiances, for it calls attention to institutions of higher education concerned with under and post-graduate training, as a locus for empirical investigation.

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statements of value. By contrast, O’ Connor focuses on the logic of justification necessary for a theory to be a “genuine” theory, and proposes minimal criteria of “refutability” and “explanatoriness”. He maintains further that a theory exhibits a structural or logical unity—clearly, he has in mind a version of the hypotheticodeductive model—and cannot, on that basis, admit statements of value as an integral part of the theory. He argues in Humean fashion that statements of value cannot be derived from statements of fact (1957, pp. 58–59). While accepting O’Connor’s positivist characterization of science, Hirst attempts to defend the role and logic of moral reasoning and, therefore, also the direct contribution of philosophy to educational theory. Committed to his “forms of knowledge” thesis he argues that educational theory does actually comprise of logically different types of statements and that “educational principles are justified entirely by direct appeal to knowledge from a variety of forms… Beyond these forms of knowledge it requires no theoretical synthesis” (1966, p. 55). The nature of practice provides the basis of theoretical unity. To be sure, Hirst is attempting to defend a more generous notion of rationality than that to which O’ Connor subscribes. Hirst, in response to O’ Connor, rejects an exclusive commitment to the scientific view of rationality as one that could ever fully account for the nature of educational theory. Where O’ Connor is committed to a version of naturalism as a consequence of holding up what he takes to be the model of natural science as the only possibility for educational theory to follow—as embodying the only available set of rational standards—Hirst argues that scientific method is necessary but not sufficient. While maintaining the possibility of both educational theory and its capacity to generate rational principles for educational practice, Hirst insists that education as primarily a social institution, requires an understanding of human purposes and intentions. He argues that as the logic of mental concepts differs significantly from that of scientific concepts, science alone cannot provide an adequate model of explanation. Yet while Hirst alludes to different logics and different models of refutation and explanation, he does not substantiate his appeal. Much of the discussion boils down to the traditional opposition of the role of causes versus reasons in the explanation of social behaviour. Where O’ Connor defends a purely causal account, Hirst believes that explanation in terms of reasons as well as causes is both necessary and desirable.19 The issue crucially at stake is that over the thesis of naturalism, Bhaskar (1979) defines naturalism “as the thesis that there is (or can be) an essential unity of method between the natural and the social sciences” and he distinguishes two species of it: reductionism “which asserts that there is an actual identity of subject matter as well” and, scientism “which denies that there are any significant differences in the methods appropriate to studying social and natural objects” (p. 3). On this basis, O’ Connor supports the thesis of naturalism as a consequence of his positivism and is both reductionistic and scientistic in orientation and Hirst argues against naturalism, and is concerned to defend alternative standards of rationality.

19 See

Marshall (1975) for an account of this debate framed within two different “images of man”.

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It is surprising that given the voluminous nature of the literature on explanations of social action,20 and the recent revival of issues concerning the respective statuses of the Nature and Geisteswissenschaften, 21 that neither O’Connor nor Hirst makes reference to these discussions. The lines of debate have been drawn up and they set the stage for much of the related discussion which ensues. It is a discussion which polarizes over both the issue of the relation of theory to practice and the role and status of the social sciences visà-vis the natural sciences. Thus, some argue towards the significance of reasons over causes on the basis of considerations to do with the nature of educational theory as a theory of practice; others argue for a similar conclusion on the basis of considerations to do with what is taken to be a radical separation in the natures of the subject matters of the social and natural sciences. Of the latter group, some conclude to the general irrelevance and undesirability of theory in education, preferring to cash out the notion of rationality in terms of practice, or of reflection on practice; while still others maintain that there are alternative sets of rationality standards and seek to elaborate a set which characterizes social theory in general and educational theory in particular. On the other side, there are those who argue for a causal account and do not accept that there are any important differences between theory in the social and natural spheres. In an important sense, therefore, a crucial issue among the participants of this discussion is whether there are rational standards which are not “scientific”. The discussion, to a large extent, then, depends on how participants construe the terms “scientific” and “theory” in conjunction with the conceptions of science and philosophy that they embrace. Let us follow the lines of debate further. Lloyd (1976) adopts O’Connor’s position against Hirst over the relation of values to theory but turns his attention to Hirst’s project and questions whether the desire for unity manifest in Hirst’s attempt to provide a theoretical backing is either necessary or desirable. Lloyd essentially is questioning the priority of theoretical rationality (i.e., rationality of belief over that of action), for he wants to argue that effectiveness in teaching can exist independently of any theory. He introduces the notion of reflection upon experience by the practitioner as a corrective to theory. Theory, by its very nature, is predisposed towards seeking a unity even where it doesn’t exist. Reflection, by contrast “is prepared to accept unity if it exists, but it is also prepared to accept that often no such unity can be found, that there are differences, often irreconcilable ones” (p. 107). He seeks to buttress his position by reference to Wittgenstein’s “family resemblance” argument that there is no theory for the use of a word, and attempts to apply the doctrine to general propositions. While Lloyd is not arguing against the notion of relevance of theory—for “their inadequacies and limitations can be instructive” and, reflecting on them will make students more aware of accepting uncritically theoretical and fashionable views”—he, nevertheless, believes 20 For

an excellent survey of the literature and an introduction to the main issues see Davis (1979). See also White (1968). 21 For a discussion of the relationship between analytic philosophy of language and the Geisteswissenschaften see Apel (1967, 1980a, b).

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that reflection on experience at the level of the particular, will turn up dissimilarities and differences between ideas, attitudes and situations that are more important than the similarities. Mounce (1976), following Lloyd but extending the position further, claims there can never be such a thing as educational theory. He argues that the development of a systematic body of theory in education faces an impossibility for it could never satisfactorily account for either the unpredictability of human actions or the complex and diverse motives which give rise to it. In one sense, Mounce’s case can be seen as a direct off-shoot of the reason versus causes debate, (and the related determinismfreewill problem). Mounce begins with an argument specific to education only to widen his approach by reference to Winch’s (1958) The Idea of a Social Science,22 This extension of the Hirst–O’Connor debate now takes on many of the hall marks of the Geisteswissenschaften (or hermeneutic) tradition which emphasizes a radical differentiation between the social and the natural sciences.23 His central claim is that the belief that social “studies” might develop a body of theory having explanatory and predictive power of the kind we find in the natural sciences, is radically mistaken. In the social “sciences” the principles of explanation and prediction are acquired by being learnt and understood; they are part of the common understanding that is acquired as one becomes educated in the ways of one’s own society. Contrary to the natural sciences, then, such principles are not based on observation and experience in the genuine scientific sense—they are not arrived at, for instance by being based on controlled and repeatable experiment. The social scientist, thus unlike the natural scientist, “relies in his explanations on what he shares with his subject matter” (p. 116). It is not possible, according to Mounce, to develop systematic bodies of such principles in the social sciences because of “the complexities involved in human behaviour and social life generally”, but this is not to argue against the possibility of explanation in the social sciences. Mounce wants to leave room for genuine judgement and explanation that is not based on systematic principles. Mounce’s argument is an attempt to argue against the thesis of naturalism, and yet conclude to the rationality of educational practice.24 Carson (1980) sides with Hirst as to the place of values in educational theory, but takes issue with Mounce, arguing against the logical impossibility of educational theory on the grounds that the natural and social sciences do not differ, in principle, at least in the important respects: both face what he describes as the “complexity feature, and “the problem of incompleteness”—i.e., the underdetermination of theory by experience—that it leads to. He views the emphasis that Mounce places on the unpredictability of human actions as an unrealistic demand for certainty which, he argues, is as misplaced in social theory as it is in science. He maintains by contrast, 22 The literature on this topic is large, and Mounce neither recognizes this nor attempts to locate his

discussion within this context. See, for instance, the exchange between Jarvie and Winch in Borger and Cioffi (1970), or more recently the collection of essays edited by Wilson (1979). 23 See Apel (1967) on the similarities between Winch’s position and that of the Geisteswissenschaften. See also Apel (1980a) on a “hermeneutical” interpretation of the later Wittgenstein. 24 See also de Castell and Freeman (1978) who attempt to reformulate the theory-practice distinction.

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that the regularity of much social behaviour—a result of its rule-governed nature— provides a basis for prediction, but adds that generalizations about such behaviour cannot be regarded as certainties, just as in zoo logy or biology similar generalizations about animal behaviour or plant growth cannot be regarded as certainties. Carson, thus, argues against the impossibility of educational and social theory, by attempting to show that those features which allegedly separate them from the natural sciences on Mounce’s account, are misconceived, and that these same features are characteristic of both. The views of Lloyd and Mounce, have prompted Shaw (1981) to ask in a paper that takes the question as its title, “Is there any relationship between educational theory and practice?” She challenges the argument that educational practice neither necessarily nor contingently rests upon theory and that, fortiori, teachers require no theoretical understanding both by pointing out that practice itself is theory-laden, and by arguing that the understanding of practice construed as an activity directed towards some end, is essentially theoretical.25 The remainder of her paper is given over to a consideration of various theoretical approaches to educational theory. She attempts, finally, to defend a conception of educational theory as a theory of practice which, although it falls short of falsificationist standards, can nevertheless be appraised and criticized in a rational manner. She can be taken to be defending the possibility of rational criticism and appraisal which does not depend upon embracing some version of falsificationism as an account of scientific rationality. She suggests two ways of criticizing a practical theory of education. As such a theory presumes that its prescriptions are possible, at least in principle, we can criticize its prescriptions by suggesting they “run counter to what we know as a matter of fact about human beings”. The other approach to rational criticism is simply “to look for inconsistencies and confusions in the theory itself” (pp. 26–27). The British literature in philosophy of education has tended to focus on the theorypractice distinction, the related issue of the place of values in educational theory, and the associated problem concerning the thesis of naturalism. What is, perhaps, most surprising in all of this is that most often these discussions have taken place “behind closed doors” so to speak, for there has been little attempt to locate problems within the wider context of philosophy. Of the participants in this ongoing discussion only Carson (1980) and Shaw (1981) have made any reference to developments in philosophy of science, and while Mounce (1976) employs Winchian-type arguments developments in social theory—for instance in Critical Theory and hermeneutics— have been completely ignored. The point can be easily substantiated by reference to the contents of professional journals. Take, for example, The Journal of Philosophy of Education, the main journal for philosophy of education in Britain. An analysis of the contents of Volumes 1–14

25 Dearden

(1980) has also recently sought to defend the conception of educational theory as a theory of practice by reference to the theory-laden conception of practice.

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covering the years 1966–1980,26 shows, as one would expect, an over-riding preoccupation with the analysis of educational concepts. Beyond this there is also a wide range of articles and discussions in the fields of moral and religious education. Of the 169 articles and discussions published during this period, only six are written on “non-analytic” topics, although most of these are written in the analytic “style”.27 Only two articles actually stand outside the analytic tradition in philosophy of education.28 Not one article among this corpus of philosophical literature is concerned with recent developments in either philosophy of science or hermeneutics, despite their obvious and profound implications for philosophy of education and education more generally.29 The American and Australasian literatures in philosophy of education, by comparison, are not as insular in their interests or styles. This is particularly so in the case of the American literature, for although British styled analysis has been held in high regard and adopted as the method of practice by large numbers of philosophers of education, the analytic paradigm never achieved quite the same supremacy it enjoyed in Britain.30 While many of the same concerns motivated American analytic philosophers,31 some of the earliest and strongest critiques of the analytic paradigm were also made by them.32 There are also similar debates over the nature of educational theory,33 although the issues are not under-pinned as they are in the Hirst–O’Connor discussion. Most importantly, there are three other “traditions” of philosophical thinking prominent in American philosophy of education literature, which offset any potential

26 Given

in Vol. 15, 1981. seems appropriate to talk here of philosophical style. Analytic style is briefly one essentially that proceeds from questions about the meanings of concepts, see Chapter 2. 28 These are articles by Simon (1978) and Edgley (1980) written from a Marxist perspective. The other four articles comprising the six referred to above are Gordon (1980) on Nietzsche, Degenhardt (1975) on Satre, Allen (1978) on Polanyi, Hendley (1978) on Buber. 29 For recent “state of the art” type reviews by British analytic philosophers of education see Hirst (1982) and Dearden (1982). It is surprising that in both surveys reference is made to the Marxist critique of analytic philosophy of education. Hirst (1982) believes that the Marxist attack does not “constitute the fundamental challenge to the enterprise that is sometimes claimed” (p. 8). Dearden (1982), although more generous in his concessions to Marxist criticisms of the analytic paradigm, can still write “An air of scandalous revelation pervades it all, though like much scandal it is rarely substantiated •••” (p. 65). 30 For an historical perspective of the development of analytic philosophy of education in America see Pratte (1979); for a view of philosophy of education between yearbooks (NSSE), 1942–1980, see Broudy (1979) for a “state of the art” survey see Scheffler (1980). 31 For a list of American analytic titles see references in Pratte (1979). 32 See particularly Soltis (1971), Edel (1973), and Pratte (1981). 33 See, for instance, the battle between positivist and common-sense conceptions of educational theory in the exchange Levit (1968, 1970) and Smith (1969); see also Nagel (1969), Flower (1970), and Maccia (1970). 27 It

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ascendancy on part of the analytic paradigm: the existential-phenomenological “tradition”; that of Deweyan “pragmatism”; and that of “policy studies”.34 To this must be added a recent and rapidly growing interest in the epistemological issues at the forefront of contemporary philosophy of science and their application to educational research,35 and the increasing influence of varieties of Marxism on both philosophy and sociology of education.36 It is interesting to note that in the main the philosophical and sociological strands of Marxism have remained quite separate. Neither have received extensive treatment at the hands of the other. This observation is also accurate of the relations between Marxist and philosophy of science interests in philosophy of education. The American literature is much more diverse, eclectic and “open” than that of its British counterpart. Still as yet, perhaps as a result of such “separatism”, there have been few attempts at the wielding together of like-minded research programmes into a theoretical synthesis in philosophy of education. The case of the recent Marxist Australian literature in this regard is interesting for in the work of Harris (1979, 1980) and Matthews (1980) (see section (a), Chapter III), there has been an attempt to arrange a marriage between contemporary developments in philosophy of science and a structuralist, Althusserian version of Marxism. A similar and developing attempt to wield together previously disparate programmes in philosophy and social theory can be seen in Walker’s and Ever’s marriage of Quinean epistemology and historical materialism (see p. 242 above). This literature is very recent and should not be allowed to obscure the predominance of the analytic approach in much Australian philosophizing in education. An analysis of the contents of Educational Philosophy and Theory from 1969 to 1974 reveals, for instance, that of the 60 or so articles published approximately half were explicitly concerned with “APE”37 issues, often written by British analytic philosophers of education (including Peters38 himself). Over the same period there were thirteen articles, alone, that directly concerned the “forms of knowledge” thesis. Marxism, and its applicability to educational theory and practice, has appeared in the literature only since the mid-1970s.39 In New Zealand, it has been argued, that although the “Scheffler/London School model” of philosophy of education dominated university courses, it was never completely assimilated, and has now, in fact, been abandoned as the model.40 “There has always been an orientation towards educational issues and action which the 34 For

literature reviews of these “traditions”, respectively see Vandenberg (1979), Burnett (1979), and Green (1979). 35 See, for example, Phillips (1979, 1981, 1983) and Siegel (1981). 36 In philosophy of education see Pacheco (1979). The Marxist literature in sociology of education is too vast to attempt a summary here: the “classic” piece is Bowles and Gintis (1976), but also see Apple (1979) and Giroux (1981). 37 The acronym “APE” standing f or Analytic Philosophy of Education was first coined by Harris (1980). 38 See Peters and White (1969). 39 For a review of this literature see Walker (1983b). 40 For a review of developments in philosophy of education in New Zealand see Marshall (1982).

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model, as a philosophy, lacks” (Marshall 1982, p. 19). In conjunction with this practical involvement is an “interest in, and tendency towards, what can be called “action oriented philosophy’”, and a sympathetic interest in a variety of Marxist positions (ibid., p. 22). It should be noted also that a new low-budget journal in philosophy of education has been set up at Auckland University under the conjoint editorship of James D. Marshall and Colin Lankshear. Of the four issues of Access that have so far been published the contents bear out the orientations of philosophy of education in New Zealand mentioned above, with a large input from Australian Marxists of various persuasion (See PESA Agora at https://pesaagora.com/ for the continuation of Access). In this brief review of the orientations of the different literatures in philosophy of education, we have moved some distance away from the second issue with which this section is concerned. Now we may return to the more central issue that this chapter has attempted to chart—the force of historicism in philosophy of science—and inquire as to its implications for philosophy of education. We may begin by recalling and looking more closely at implications that have already been drawn in the literature. In order to do this I shall restrict myself to three authors (Harris 1979; Phillips 1981; Walker 1983a) who have attempted to track out the implications of the new developments in philosophy of science for philosophy of education. All three authors largely focus on the implications that can be drawn for the conduct of educational research, although in all cases this area of concern is not their exclusive interest. Harris (1979), for instance, utilizes the theory-laden conception to examine “the role that formal education plays in the provision and structuring of our knowledge of the world” (p. 3), and Phillips (1981) in following the debate on the nature and incommensurability of paradigms, investigates the issues it raises for cross-cultural studies and curriculum design.41 While there are obvious differences in the positions they embrace42 the story they have to tell of the new philosophy of science is similar, as one might expect. Each of them tracks through the sorts of moves that have been made in philosophy of science mentioning, the central tenets of falsificationism, the theory-laden conception, Kuhn’s paradigms and the incommensurability thesis, Lakatos’ research programmes and so on, but the conclusions and implications they draw vary considerably. Thus, where Harris and Walker (on somewhat different grounds) accept that philosophy is epistemically continuous with other cognitive pursuits, it is not clear

41 See

also Siegel (1981). His paper is an assessment, and attack on, Brown’s (1977) “systematic exposition of the main tenets of the new philosophy of science” (p. 21). 42 Harris (1979) is Lakatosian in orientation, though he attempts to marry this with a structuralist Marxism; Walker (1983a), along with his colleague, Evers (1982), is a Quinean epistemologist who adopts a Marxist view as· to “the social origins and functions of theories”, and “a materialist account of society and of the production of human knowledge” (p. 14); Phillips (1981) is much more difficult to classify. He has been referred to as a Popperian (see Siegel 1981, fn. 20, p. 36), though it is clear that he is influenced also by Lakatos and by elements of pragmatism (see also Phillips 1983, 1984a).

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that Phillips does. Or again, while Harris and Walker clearly accept a form of historicism43 —and, therefore, an historicist notion of rationality—Phillips does not accept that the case has been demonstrated (see Phillips 1983, p. 11). These differences might be taken to characterize the expected differences in comparing the Popperian position with a Marxist orientation, but there are also issues that divide Walker from Harris. From my point of view, however, what is of interest in their discussions of the implications of the new philosophy of science is the way in which all three make a set of assumptions regarding the methodological unity of the natural and the social sciences,44 and how this leads them to ignore the role and the importance of the new hermeneutics. Given the rapid developments in philosophy of science and the turnabout that has apparently taken place with regard to the two kinds of science they may be forgiven. The traditional opposition of the natural and social sciences was based on the Logical Empiricist account of science. It was clear, given this account, that the human sciences did not live up to the same standards, even although positivist social scientists did their best to make out the case. The new thesis of unity is now espoused by critics of Logical Empiricism for, as Taylor (1980) puts it, the distinction between the two kinds of science: disappears once we realize that the logical empiricists sold us an extraordinary bill of goods about natural science. Once we awaken from our positivist slumbers we realize that none of these features [e.g., the distinction between data of experience and their theoretical explanation and that between facts and meanings] hold of natural science either. The two turn out to be methodologically at one, not for the positivist reason that there is no rational place for hermeneutics; but for the radically opposed reason that all sciences are equally hermeneutic. (p. 26)45

Such hermeneutics has become crucially relevant to the new philosophy of science as questions of meaning and questions of interpretation coincide. The theory-laden thesis, and holism (semantic, epistemic) pave the way for the new hermeneutics, but those philosophers of education (Walker, Harris, Phillips) who have interpreted the educational implications of the new philosophy of science have adopted, without argument, a scientific holism—a holism based on method which no longer recognizes any radical difference between the natural and the social sciences. As Taylor (1980) graphically expresses the point: This is an extraordinary reversal. Old-guard Diltheyans their shoulders hunched from yearslong resistance against the encroaching pressure of positivist natural science, suddenly pitch forward on their faces as all opposition ceases to the reign of universal hermeneutics. (ibid.) 43 Compare: “There is...no knowledge which transcends the historical process” (Walker 1983a, p. 27) and “...there simply cannot be any a-temporal, a-social, a-historical, a-theoretical, ‘objective’ point from which we can make judgements or criticisms” (Harris 1979, p. 46). 44 It is worth noting here that the a historicism/historicism debate is agnostic as regards the naturalism/anti-naturalism issue, or even as regards the opposition between pure agency/causal accounts in the explanation of social behaviour. 45 Taylor (1980) along with Dreyfus (1980) is concerned to argue against the new thesis of unity.

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These scientific or theoretical holists of philosophy of education and have so interpreted the new philosophy of science as to collapse any philosophically interesting differences between the natural and the social sciences. This implication is a challengeable assumption on a number of grounds. The case for methodological unity of the sciences is more apparent, once again, in Walker and Harris than in Phillips. Harris (1979) sees no significant differences in evaluation procedures (p. 35) and talks of theoretical progress in the realm of nonscientific theory in Lakatosian terms. He believes that “theoretical progress certainly is possible in the absence of empirical progress” (p. 45). Such talk is necessary for his attempt both to differentiate “progressive” and “degenerating” programmes in philosophy of education, and in order to put forward his ideology as theory conception. For Walker (1983a) and Evers (1983) such unity is a result of the Quinean epistemology and physicalism, as much as the historical materialism, they embrace. Phillips’ case is much more difficult to detect or fathom. It seems to be a consequence both of a Popperian theory competition methodology, and a Popperian realism that in principle, collapses finally into physicalism. In reply to Evers (1983), who charts the course of physicalism against intention-based research,46 Phillips (1984b) argues both in defence of talk of intentions and of the “budding” tradition of intentionbased research on practical and pragmatic grounds. Phillips does not deny that there is an inner physicalist story to tell; he simply argues that at this point in time it is still necessary to ascribe intentions in the prediction and understanding of human behaviour (and even of the best chess-playing computers). Further he notes that physicalism as a research programme, while true, has no foreseeable educational pay-offs, whereas intention-based research may well contribute modest improvements. Intention-based research also has the added advantage of treating its subjects as human rather than as mere automata. If we accept Phillips (1984b) argument, then, it seems that we must also accept, what at first sight, appears to be an inconsistency for a Popperian in the realm of theory or paradigm choice and evaluation. For the consequence of Phillips’ position seems to be that even if true, physicalism as a research programme is to be relegated in favour of an (untrue?) intention-based research programme. We can hardly regard physicalism as “degenerating” for the programme has not really got off the ground as yet, but, on the other hand, we cannot regard it as “progressive” either if we are to believe Phillips’ argument. The case of a research programme which is deemed to be true (why does Phillips need to concede this to Evers?), but does not carry the appellation “progressive” would seem to generate an inconsistency for a Popperian or Lakatosian. These questions are by the way anyhow, for there are better grounds to support what is referred to as intention-based research. These grounds are intimately tied to objections against the new thesis of unity, and to revitalized arguments for emphasizing a radical separation between the sciences. 46 The argument for physicalism (contra intention-based research) is also evident in Walker’s (1983c)

“Materialism and the Growth of Knowledge in Education” which, curiously, is also an epistemological plank in his and Ever’s larger materialist pragmatism research programme that, in turn, underpins Walker’s (1983b) critique of the Cultural Studies approach and his own ethnography.

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These grounds and arguments appear in a series of literatures largely ignored in the interpretation of the new philosophy of science. Let me first mention some of those different sets of literatures that are predicated on such a radical separation. The list is so vast I shall mention only the more prominent ones. There is, first, the whole realm of Critical Theory and hermeneutics, continuing in the “radical” tradition of the Geisteswissenschaften.47 Second, and closely associated with the first, are the various phenomenological-existential schools, and the “interpretive” sociologies they have spawned.48 Third, and closer to home, there is the enormous Anglo-American philosophical literature on the explanation of social- action,49 and that of the successors of the later Wittgenstein.50 Fourth, one can cite those educators, like Freire (1972), who have developed radical pedagogies. Fifth, come a range of action-based methodologies utilizing naturalistic methods of research such as Action Research,51 and Social Policy Research.52 Sixth, there is a mountain of literature dealing with the problem of consciousness and associated problems of agency, intention and action in psychology.53 I have only just begun to scratch the surface, but it is enough to make the point that this body of interrelated literatures constitutes something more than a “budding” research programme. And while there are many differences among these literatures there is one thing on which they agree and that is the significance of the study of agency, action and intention as the special subject matter of the human sciences. In the majority of cases this also appears to entail a radical separation of the natural and human sciences. What can we conclude from this exegetical point? The overriding conclusion— and one which brings us to the very heart of the new hermeneutics—is that interpreters of the new philosophy of science, generally schooled in one tradition, have failed, properly to locate the sites of their discussions with regard to all the relevant literature (“data”). They have failed at the hermeneutical level, to be self-reflexive consistent. The failure, in other words, is directly related to their inability to see the role and importance of the new hermeneutics, or to acknowledge a series of problematical questions about the way in which both the interpreter and the text (or theory) stand in given historical traditions. For modern hermeneutics begins with the recognition that historical conditioning is two-sided. These interpreters in philosophy of education, who have sought to understand the implications of the new philosophy of science, have not taken to heart the hermeneutical point that they, themselves, already stand

47 Clearly, I cannot provide a summary of the arguments of, or even complete references to, these different literatures in the space provided here, but I shall indicate some brief overviews. On the Critical Theory of IIabermas, see McCarthy (1978). The best introduction to hermeneutics is Gadamer (1975; 1976). See also Taylor (1971) and Thiselton (1980). 48 See Giddens (1976) and Bernstein (1976). On existential-Marxism see Chiodi (1978). 49 See Davis (1979) and White (1968). 50 See Chapter I of this thesis. 51 See Kemmis (1981) and Peters and Robinson (1984). 52 See, for example, Bulmer (1978). 53 See Boden (1973), Secord (1982) and Manicas and Secord (1983).

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in a tradition, which has shaped their own pre-understandings, and influenced their interpretations and the morals that they draw for educational theory. The point is borne out further at the specific level with respect to different forms of holism, for while these interpreters (particularly Walker and Harris) have embraced a form of theoretical holism, they have not entertained the proposition that there are different forms of holism and that these may be in contradiction.54 It is certainly clear that the force of historicism in philosophy of science has made some impact on discussions of the nature and status of educational theory, but this impact has been strongest where it has been aligned with some version of historical materialism. It is also clear in this discussion that many of the problems originate with the problematic notion of rationality, and with how participants construe it in association with various interpretations of science and of philosophy which they put forward. The “scientistic” orientation of the interpreters of the new philosophy of science in education has, however, led them to over-emphasize a certain body of literature at the expense of others. Such an orientation has skewed their interpretations, and also led them away from considering the role and importance of the new hermeneutics.

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Maccia, E. S. (1970). Towards educational theorizing without mistake. Studies in Philosophy of Education, VII(2), 154–157. Manicas, P. T., & Secord, P. F. (1983). Implications for psychology of the new philosophy of science. American Psychologist, 38 (4) (April), 399–413. Marshall, J. (1975). The nature of educational theory. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 7(1), 15–26. Marshall, J. (1982). Philosophy of education in New Zealand. Educational Analysis, 4(1), 19–24. Masterman, M. (1970). The nature of a paradigm. In I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (Eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge (pp. 59–90). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Matthews, M. (1980). The Marxist theory of schooling: A study of epistemology and education. London: Harvester Press. McCarthy, T. (1978). The critical theory of Jurgen Habermas. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. McMullin, E. (1976). Theory and appraisal in science. In R. S. Cohen, P. K. Feyerabend, & M. W. Wartofsky (Eds.), Essays in memory of Imre Lakatos, Boston Studies in Philosophy of Science (vol. XXXIX). Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. McMullin, E. (1979). The ambiguity of historicism. In P. O. Asquith & H. E. Kyburg· Jr. (Eds.), Current research in philosophy of science (pp. 53–83). East Lansing, MI: Philosophy of Science Association. Miller, O. W. (1974). Popper’s qualitative theory of Verisimilitude. British Journal for the Philosophy of Science, 25(2), 166–177. Mounce, H. (1976). Theory and practice. Proceedings of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, X, 114–123. Musgrave, A. (1976). Method or madness? Can the methodology of research programmes be rescued from epistemological anarchism? In R. S. Cohen, P. K. Feyerabend & M. W. Wartofsky (Eds.), Essays in memory of Imre Lakatos. Boston Studies in Philosophy of Science (vol. XXXIX, pp. 457–491). Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. Nagel, E. (1969). Philosophy of science and educational theory. Studies in Philosophy and Education, VII(1) 5–27. Nickles, T. (1980). Introductory essay: Scientific discovery and the future of the philosophy of science. In T. Nickes (Ed.), Scientific discovery, logic and rationality, Boston Studies in the Philosophy of Science, Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. O’Connor, D. J. (1957). An introduction to the philosophy of education. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. O’Connor, O. J. (1973). The nature and scope of educational theory. In G. Langford & D. J. O’Connor (Eds.), New essays in the philosophy of education (pp. 47–65). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Pacheco, A. (1979). Marx, philosophy and education. In G. D. Fenstermacher (Ed.), Philosophy of education 1978. Proceedings of the Thirty-Fourth Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society (pp. 208–220). Champaign, IL: P.E.S. Pappas, G. & Swian, M. (Eds.). (1978). Essays on knowledge and justification. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Peters, M., & Robinson, V. (1984). The origin and status of action research. Journal of Applied Behavioural Science, 20(2), 113–124. Peters, R. S., & White, J. P. (1969). The philosopher’s contribution to educational research. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 1, 1–15. Phillips, D. C. (1979). The interactive universe and the limits of educational research. In J. R. Coombs (Ed.), Philosophy of education 1979. Proceedings of the Thirty-Fifth Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society (pp. 135–145). Champaign: IL: P.E.S. Phillips, D. C. (1981). Post-Kuhnian reflections on educational research. In J. F. Soltis (Ed.), Philosophy and education (pp. 237–261), Eightieth Yearbook of the National Society for the Study of Education. Chicago, NSSE. Phillips, D. C. (1983). After the wake: Postpositivistic educational thought. Educational Researcher, 12(5) (May), 4–12.

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Phillips, D. C. (1984a). Was William James telling the truth after all? The Monist, 67(3), (July), 419–434. Phillips, D. C. (1984b). The good intentions of colin evers. Access, 3(1), 16–17. Popper, K. R. (1959 [1934]). The logic of scientific discovery (7th imp. 1974). London: Hutchinson. Popper, K. R. (1963 [1974]). Conjectures and refutations: The growth of scientific knowledge (5th ed.). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Popper, K. R. (1972). Objective knowledge: An evolutionary approach. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pratte, R. (1979). Analytic philosophy of education: A historical perspective. Teachers College Record, 81(2) (Winter), 145–165. Pratte, R. (1981). “Getting the fly out of the bottle: Criticism of something called analytic philosophy of education”, Presidential Address in C.J.B. Macmillan (Ed.), Philosophy of education 1980. Proceedings of the Thirty-Sixth Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society (pp. 3– 18). Champaign, IL: P.E.S. Putnam, H. (1975). Mind, language and reality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Putnam, H. (1978). Meaning and the moral sciences. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Quinton, A. (1966). The foundations of knowledge. In B. Williams & A. Montefiore (Eds.), British analytical philosophy. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Reichenbach, H. (1938). Experience and prediction. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rorty, R. (1980). Philosophy and the mirror of nature. Oxford: Blackwell. Scheffler, I. (1967). Science and subjectivity. Bobbs-Merrill: Indianapolis. Scheffler, I. (1980). Philosophy of education: Some recent contributions. Harvard Educational Review, 50, 402–406. Schlick, M. (1936). Meaning and verification. The Philosophical Review, LXV (4), 339–369. Secord, P. F. (Ed.). (1982). Explaining social behaviour: consciousness, human action and social structure. Beverley Hills, CA: Sage. Sellars, W. (1963). Science, perception and reality. New York: Humanities Press. Shaw, B. (1981). Is there any relationship between educational theory and practice? British Journal of Educational Studies, XXX(1), 19–28. Siegel, H. (1981). Conceptual change and the new philosophy of science. In D. R. De Nicola & T. W. Nelson. Supplement to Philosophy of education 1981. Proceedings of the Thirty-Seventh Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society (pp. 21–36). Champaign, IL: P.E.S. Siegel, H. (1983). Truth, problem solving and the rationality of science. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, 14(2), 89–112. Simon, B. (1978). Problems in contemporary educational theory: A Marxist approach. The Journal of Philosophy of Education, 12, 29–40. Smith, J. E. (1969). The reflexive turn, the linguistic turn and the pragmatic outcome. The Monist, 22, 588–605. Smith, M. C. (1982). A contribution to the study of Karl Marx’s philosophy of education. In D. R. De Nicola (Ed.), Philosophy of education 1981. Proceedings of the Thirty-Seventh Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society (pp. 199–206). Champaign: IL: P.E.S. Sneed, J. E. (1977). Describing revolutionary scientific change: A formal approach. In R. E. Butts & J. Hintikka (Eds.), Historical and philosophical dimensions of logic, methodology and philosophy of science. Part Four of the Proceedings of the Fifth International Congress of Logic, Methodology and Philosophy of Science (pp. 245–268) (London, Ontario, Canada, 1975), The University of Western Ontario Series in Philosophy of Science (vol. 12), Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. Soltis, J. (1971). Analysis and anomalies in philosophy of education. In R. D. Heslep (Ed.), Philosophy of education. Proceedings of the Twenty-Seventh Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society. Edwardsville, IL. Stegmuller, W. (1977). Accidental (‘Non-substantial’) theory change and theory dislodgment. In R. E. Butts & J. Hintikka (Eds.) Historical and philosophical dimensions of logic, methodology and philosophy of science. Part Four of the Proceedings of the Fifth International Congress of Logic, Methodology and Philosophy of Science (pp. 269–288) (London, Ontario, Canada, 1975), The

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Chapter 6

Hermeneutics, Social Theory and Education

… the traditions within which we stand—and every tradition that we creatively or appropriatingly pass on—offer less an objective field for the scientific mastery of a subject matter or for the extension of our domination by knowledge of the unknown than a mediation of ourselves with our real possibilities engulfing us—with what can be and what is capable of happening to and becoming of us. Hans-Georg Gadamer, “Philosophy or Theory of Science?” in Reason in the Age of Science (F.G. Lawrence, Trans.). Cambridge, MIT Press, 1981, pp. 166–167.

(a) The Rise of Modern Hermeneutics: Gadamer and the Happening of Tradition1 Hermeneutics—the theory of the interpretation of meaning—has only recently emerged as a central theme in the English-speaking academic world, even although its modern origins date back to Schleiermacher in the early nineteenth century and its ancient derivation points back to the Greeks.2 In view of its contemporary relevance and significance for issues in a wide range of disciplines—in social theory, in literary criticism, in theology, in philosophies of science, language and art—one might wonder why the hermeneutic tradition has had such a spectacular lack of influence in the Anglo-American world. Giddens (1982) in addressing himself to this question as regards the development of social theory, mentions two principal factors. The first simply relates to the fact that the hermeneutic tradition was most firmly established in Germany, and many of the key texts remained untranslated into 1 The

phrase “the Happening of Tradition” is taken from an essay by Kisiel (1969) on the hermeneutics of Heidegger and Gadamer. 2 Hirsch (1975) distinguishes local from general hermeneutics a division that roughly approximates the historical distinction between ancient and modern employed here. The former (i.e., local/ancient) is a theory of interpretation applicable only to one “class” of texts (e. g. biblical hermeneutics, poetics, canons of legal construction), while the latter applies to all textual interpretation (see pp. 298–289). © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 M. A. Peters, Wittgenstein, Education and the Problem of Rationality, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9972-9_6

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English.3 The second and more important reason concerns the dominance of what Giddens refers to as the “orthodox consensus” (p. 1). He emphasizes the importance of three characteristics of this orthodoxy. The first was the influence of positivistic philosophy as providing a logical framework for accounts of science. Not only were these conceptions of science accepted, but so too was the associated belief that the social sciences should be modelled on the natural sciences. Second, Giddens cites the influence of functionalism on the level of method: “if the marriage between contemporary positivism and functionalism (e.g., Comte, Durkheim) was not a case of love at first sight, the relation was at least consummated” (p. 2). Third, Giddens mentions the influence of the concepts of “industrial society” and of “modernisation theory” in a global theory of industrial society which both embraces a set of views concerning the development of “advanced” societies and is affiliated to liberal political ideas. “Combining these three elements, the orthodox consensus provided a body of ‘mainstream’ opinion, for sociology, and in some degree for the social sciences in general” (p. 3). Such “orthodox consensus” has, as we have learned, in part, from the history of contemporary philosophy of science, dissolved. This dissolution, in large part, has come about through the criticism of the basic presuppositions of Logical Empiricism, and in sociology, from an attack on functionalism. But, as Giddens (1982) rightly points out, “its demise is certainly not something to be explained solely in terms of intellectual critique” for changes in the social sciences have “reflected transmutations in the social world itself, as the period of stable Western economic growth was interrupted by fresh reversals, crises and conflicts” (p. 3).4 A revival of interest in hermeneutics is one of the responses to the toppling of the “orthodox consensus” in social theory. Giddens maintains that the Englishspeaking recovery of the hermeneutic tradition has been facilitated by the postWittgensteinian movement within British and American philosophy (p. 5). He also mentions “the occurrence of a convergence of approaches” particularly between post-Wittgensteinian philosophy and Continental hermeneutics, and the relevance of issues confronted by a general theory of interpretation to the new philosophy of science (p. 6). In these observations I believe Giddens to be essentially correct but the historical trends considered within social theory alone ignores the dimensions and wideranging influence of this movement, for similar trends are also detectable within the realms of literary criticism (Hoy 1982), theology (Thiselton 1980), and the philosophies of language, science (Rorty 1980), and art (Gadamer 1975a). The issues

3 Giddens (1982) notes that while the central unifying notion of verstehen became widely known in

the English-speaking world through the writings of Max Weber, the controversy about this notion in the English-speaking literature “by-passed some of the most significant questions raised by the hermeneutic tradition” (p. 1). 4 It is important to note here that Giddens (1982) explicitly recognizes that methodological and substantive problems are intimately intertwined such that methodological issues “can be related directly to the concrete analysis of transformations in society” (p. 3).

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addressed by the new hermeneutics include a set of related problems confronted in law, psychoanalysis, linguistics, religion and Marxism to name but a few.5 In what follows I have attempted to give something of a brief sketch of the rise of modern hermeneutics principally by focusing on the philosophical hermeneutics of Gadamer and the critical hermeneutics of Habermas. My main task here remains largely at the level of exposition, seeking to elucidate Gadamer’s and Habermas’ thought mainly by reference to their own writings that have been translated into English.6 Part of my purpose also is to produce an interpretation of modern hermeneutics and of Gadamer’s brand in particular, which will link with and consolidate the Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein that I have put forward, and thus provide both a theoretical and historically documented orientation for a Wittgensteinian-inspired research programme in philosophy of education. To that end I attempt briefly to emphasize the conceptual similarities between Wittgenstein and Gadamer. I focus particularly on Gadamer’s and Habermas’ notion of understanding as a dialogical process, and attempt to explore it as the basis of a new paradigm in educational philosophy and theory. My approach is to compare and contrast Gadamer’s notion with that of Habermas, and to draw out the implications of adopting this model for philosophy of education.

(b) The Prehistory of Modern Hermeneutics Some structure is necessary to make sense of the discussion on the rise of modern hermeneutics, for although there exists an unbroken chain which, stemming from Schleiernacher, can be found in Dilthey, Heidegger and Gadamer,7 the tradition is not as continuous or uniform as it may first appear.8 Bleicher (1980) provides a convenient classification of the different strands. He mentions first, hermeneutical theory which “focuses on the problematic of a general theory of interpretation as the methodology for the human sciences (or Geisteswissenschaften…)” (p. 1) such as is typified in the writings of Dilthey, and Betti. Hermeneutical theory expresses an “objectivism” in the search for a secure epistemological and methodological basis for the scientific investigation of meaning. This is to be distinguished from hermeneutic philosophy9 which rejects “objectivism” and

5 See for instance, the wide-ranging interests of Habermas (1971), Gadamer (1975a), and Ricoeur (1974). 6 Even so, my exposition of Gadamer and Habermas is limited to an outline of the main themes, rather than a detailed and exhaustive analysis. 7 Heidegger was a student of Dilthey, just as Gadamer was a student of Heidegger’s. 8 Hirsch (1975) points out the way the anti-objectivism of Heidegger and Gadamer runs counter to the objectivism of Boeckh and Dilthey (and his own). 9 Bleicher’s distinction here is taken from Robinson and Cobb (1964).

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asserts that social scientist or interpreter and object are linked by a context of tradition— which implies that he already has a pre-understanding of his object as he approaches it, thereby being unable to start with a neutral mind. The conception of what is involved in understanding consequently shifts from the reproduction of a pre-given object to the participation in an on-going communication between past and present. Hermeneutic philosophy… [aims]…at the explication and phenomenological description of human Dasein in its temporality and historicality. (p. 2)

Hermeneutic philosophy is represented most fully in the works of Gadamer, which are to be distinguished once again from the critical hermeneutics of Habermas and Apel. Critical hermeneutics challenges both the earlier strands on the grounds of their idealist assumptions and, in particular, the neglect to consider extra-linguistic factors which also help to constitute the context of thought and action, i. e. work and domination. Hermeneutic philosophy, furthermore, puts forward an unjustifiable claim to universality by regarding tradition embedded in language as forming a supporting consensus that cannot itself be questioned since it provides the conditions of its possibility. (pp. 3–4)

As we work our way through the brief historical sketch presented below these distinctions will become clearer. I begin with the prehistory of modern hermeneutics. Hermeneutics has a long history pre-dating even its significance in Biblical exegesis or in law. Pannenberg (1976), for instance, notes that the art of hermeneutics is first mentioned in the pseudo-Platonic dialogue Epinomis where it meant the construing of religious tradition (p. 157). The term “hermeneutic” intimately linked with Hermes—messenger of the gods—suggests both a sacred origin and a modern connotation, for Hermes was something more than a mere messenger, he was the mediator between the gods and mortals. As Hoy (1978) has pointed out by reference to Cratylus, Socrates indicates that Hermes could be called interpreter but also thief, liar or contriver, for while words have the power to reveal they have the power to conceal as well (p. 1). While the hermeneutical in general, pertains to the process of exposing hidden meanings—whether it be a classical or sacred text ‘ a poem’ play or the precedents of case law—the root meaning of the word hermeneuein is to speak or to say. Ebeling (1971) maintains that the meaning develops from this speech orientation in three main directions: “to put into words (express), to expound (explain) and to translate (interpret)” (pp. 156–157). Others have picked up on its origin in the Greek educational system where literary interpretation developed an allegorical method of construing the mythical tradition (see Pannenberg 1976, p. 158; Bleicher 1980, p. 11). Of some importance here is the Aristotelian division of literary interpretation into rhetoric and poetics and their inclusion in the practical as opposed to the theoretical sciences.10 A second stage was reached in local hermeneutics under the influence of Humanism during the Renaissance. Attention was directed towards the formulation of a methodology of profane texts whereby the classical literary standards, once 10 See McKean, Introduction (see p. xxix) and Lloyd (1968). Note also how both Gadamer (1981) and

Perelman (1982) return to the ·practical philosophy (phronesis) of Aristotle in order to overcome the break down of tradition and the consequent loss of normative and political orientations in Western philosophy.

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recovered, could be scrutinized. These philological investigations, as Bleicher (1980) reminds us, sprang from a practical interest “since Greek culture not only represented a model for artistic and scientific education, but for life in general” (p. 12).11 The further impetus for the development of hermeneutics as method came with the need for religions relying on sacred texts to have a legitimated system of rules for interpretation. Here the ethical-pedagogic interest was even more pronounced (Bleicher 1980, p. 12). The relation between the notions of tradition and hermeneutics is closely linked. In its original theological context the notion of tradition refers to those doctrines— encapsulating both the words and deeds—which were generally not originally recorded in sacred texts but delivered orally (hence the term oral tradition) by a divine authority to a specially chosen disciple or band of disciples.12 These oral teachings, especially in the Judaic, Christian and Islamic faiths, were preserved in authoritative interpretations, and transmitted or conveyed to members of the religious community. A distinction is normally drawn between the sacred texts themselves (such as the Pentateuch, the Gospels and the Koran) and the interpretations that have grown up around them. It is the latter which are characteristically referred to as “traditions” although it is clear that both can be so categorized as the sacred texts do not stand as autonomous works but are necessarily subject to interpretation. The important point that needs stressing here is that such traditions were embodied in language and conveyed or transmitted by means of language either orally or in the form of texts. In other words, tradition both in the form of texts and in the derivative sense, involved interpretation—even though a distinction between the text and its accumulated understandings might want to be preserved. In fact, the ecclesiastical root of “tradition” derives from the Latin traditio (meaning to deliver or hand down), and tradere (meaning to give up or transmit). In its most fundamental sense, therefore “it makes no statement about what is handed down… or whether it is a physical object or a cultural construction; it says nothing about how long it has been handed down or in what manner, whether orally or in written form” (Shils 1981, p. 12). The same sense of tradition as “formal delivery” is preserved in law (especially Roman and Scottish) whereas in the realm of literary and artistic criticism and appreciation it has come to mean a body of principles based on accumulated experience and continuous usage. Of the two necessary canons of orthodoxy in the Tridentine Church tradition and scripture—hermeneutical theory concerned itself with the interpretation of the latter. Scriptural hermeneutics—the body of specialized techniques involving among other things, grammatical exegesis, word study and the examination of literary genre— constituted a method or set of procedures by which the original meaning of sacred texts were thought to be revealed. A significant effect of Luther and Reformation 11 Cf.

Gadamer’s (1975a) discussion both of Vico’s emphasis on following the ancient rhetorical tradition in education (p. 2lf), and the relation between education and tradition (p. 249). 12 For a study of the role of tradition in the early Western Church see Morrison (1969). He tells us that Vincent of Lerins, a fifth-century writer who composed the classic theological definition, defined authentic tradition in terms of universality, antiquity and consensus, yet of these three conditions “Only the consensus of the Fathers was decisive” (p. 4).

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scholars in rejecting tradition, and thus also the authority of the Tridentine Church by focusing on a clear, literal understanding of Biblical texts, was, at once to accredit hermeneutics a greater importance for a sound hermeneutical theory became an absolute desideratum for the minister of the Word of God13 —and to unite the humanistic literary tradition with reform (Gadamer 1975a, pp. 154 and 246f). The result was a flourishing of Romantic hermeneutics whose scope was widened by Schleiermacher and further developed by the German “historical school” (Ranke, Droysen and Dilthey—Schleiermacher’s biographer). For Schleiermacher, as for Dilthey after him, hermeneutics became the theory of understanding in general in all forms of communication.14 Specifically, hermeneutics was conceived as being concerned to reproduce or restore the author’s original intention or purpose to the text and so guard against possible misunderstanding. Historical knowledge is thus necessarily involved for only it can fully restore the past author’s intention as it was (Gadamer 1975a, pp. 147ff and pp. 162–174). Schleiermacher’s systematic formulation of hermeneutics contains both grammatical and psychological interpretation. Bleicher (1980) gives the first two of forty-four “canons” of Schleiermacher’s grammatical approach which serves to shed light on his overall orientation: “Everything that needs a fuller determination in a given text nay only be determined in reference to the fie Id of language shared by the author and his original public”; and, “the meaning of every word in a given passage has to be determined in reference to its coexistence with the words surrounding it’” (p. 14, quoted from Wach, 1926). With the rise of the German “historical” school and the historicism it espoused hermeneutics developed more generally as a function of human understanding (verstehen) in contrast to explanation (erklaren). The orthodoxy of the complete autonomy of the text (a central feature of local hermeneutics) gave way totally to the orthodoxy of context: the understanding of an expression, it was held, depends upon an understanding of the context in which it stands. A knowledge of social and cultural contexts was considered necessary for it was these contexts that determined the nature and meaning of expressions; thus, the famous hermeneutical circle: to understand a word or expression we must be able to understand the language, yet to be able to understand the language it is necessary to be able to understand the words and expressions which comprise it. It is an easy step to understand Dilthey’s rejection of historical objectivism and transcendentalism in his epistemological analysis of the Geisteswissenschaften. For him, as for later critics of historical objectivism, the human sciences cannot be founded upon a categorical analysis of the knowing subject, in the way that for the neo-Kantians the natural sciences were founded upon a categorical analysis of “the object of knowledge”—something verifiable against experience and thus quite distinct from the experience of the individual—for the knowing subject is part of 13 Matthias

Flacius, for example, rejected the emphasis on tradition in the interpretation of the Scriptures insisting on the possibility of universally valid interpretation through hermeneutics, see Bleicher, (1980, pp. 12–13). 14 On the historical importance of Schleiermacher, besides Gadamer (1975a), see Pannenberg (1976, pp. 158–60) and Bleicher (1980, pp. 14–16).

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life and can know it only from within. This was the starting point for Dilthey: “there was no such thing as a universal subject, only historical individuals. The ideality of meaning was not to be assigned to a transcendental subject but emerged from the historical reality of life” so that “like the continuity of a text the structural continuity of life is determined between the whole and the parts (Gadamer 1975a, p. 197) “Structural continuity”, later called “significance” (term adopted from Husserl who distinguished it from causal continuity is, therefore, to be understood as an expression of life embodied in language, customs and ways of life). But Dilthey’s critique of historical reason, a self-conscious counterpart of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, could not he carried out simply in terms of a descriptive and analytical psychology15 for the key historical problem was not so much how a coherence of continuity is experienced by the knowing subject but “how a continuity that no one has experienced can be known” (Gadamer 1975a, p. 198). “Historical coherence” so maintains Gadamer (1975a) “must, in the end, be understood as a coherence of meaning that wholly transcends the horizon of the individual’s experience. It is like an enormous alien text that one needs the help of hermeneutics to decipher” (p. 460). Dilthey, then, following Droysen’s call for a method appropriate to an object that is already structured meaningfully (Bleicher 1980, p. 18) set out to provide the theoretical underpinnings of hermeneutics as the methodology for the Geisteswissenschaften.16 His Critique represents the first modern attempt to bridge a series of dualisms evident in Kant—those between philosophy and science, pure and practical reason, systematic philosophy and philosophy of life, logic and history, theory and praxis. In his attempted resolution of these dualisms, Dilthey’s approach, however, owes much to both Kant and Hegel for it unites Kant’s rejection of metaphysical reasoning with Hegel’s concern for history: “for Kant’s transcendental argumentation…[Dilthey] substituted the psychological-historical study of the conditions under which we act and think, and the totality of the empirical self for the transcendental self” (Bleicher 1980, pp. 19–20). Dilthey’s concern for a generality and certainty in the results of the Geisteswissenschaften, ironically, led him to deal with the problem of objectivity in a scientistic fashion, and therefore, to finally contradict his own intentions. Bleicher (1980) retraces Gadamer’s and Habermas’ assessment of the line of argument that leads Dilthey ultimately to an “objectivism”. “Empiricistically he [i.e., Dilthey] focuses on something ‘given’: the ultimate unit of experience which in the sphere of hermeneutics is the ‘lived experience’. Equally ‘reliving’… functions as the equivalent to observation: ‘both fulfil on the empirical level the criterion for a copy theory of truth? They guarantee, it seems, the reproduction of something immediate within an isolated consciousness that is 15 Dilthey in distinguishing the human from the natural sciences was influenced by Mill’s Logic, but

Mill had merely “established a group of disciplines alongside the natural sciences which he named ‘moral sciences’”, and there was no implication that Mill regarded these “moral sciences” as having their own methods and being independent of the natural sciences (Pannenberg, 1976, p. 73). 16 For a comprehensive historical account and critique of the division between the natural and the human sciences, see Pannenberg (1976, Chapter 2, pp. 72–155).

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free of any subjective elements’” (pp. 23–24).17 So it was Dilthey, who, in moving beyond his initial orientation introduces the idea of grounding the human sciences in hermeneutics. It is significant that the resulting historicism was presented by Dilthey and such authors as Troeltsch, Meinecke, Mannheim and Croce, as something more than a theory of historical knowledge or a methodology of the socio-historical sciences. To them it represented “a decisive turning-point in the understanding of reality—in fact, the specifically modern conception of the world…” involving the attempt to overcome “the anarchy of philosophical systems” (Rossi 1969, p. 15). Historicism, a concrete rationalism, was seen to be superior to the abstract rationalism of the eighteenth century and was thus attributed both a progressive and revolutionary nature. Rossi (1969), however, concludes upon the results of an analysis of twentieth-century historicism that it is not possible to give a single ideological characterization and that, therefore, it is impossible to accept either the apologetic image presented by Dilthey et al. or the polemical image shared by Popper and Lukacs. He suggests that we need a criterion to distinguish between the conservative and the progressive aspects of historicism. “This criterion must not be sought in extrinsic elements but must be inherent in the very effort to establish a philosophical conception of reality” (p. 29). Gadamer provides such a philosophy in an account narking the transition from hermeneutical theory, which seeks a problematic of a development of a procedure or method of understanding but to clarify the conditions under which understanding actually happens.

(c) Gadamer’s Hermeneutic Philosophy Where for both Schleiermacher and Dilthey the knowing subject’s own subjectivity is something to be methodologically overcome in reaching historical understanding, for the knowing subject’s subjectivity—which is involved in the process of understanding—that, so to speak, opens up the past. This recognition that all understanding inevitably involves some prejudice gives the hermeneutical problem its real thrust. By the light of this insight it appears that historicism, despite its critique of rationalism and of natural law philosophy, is based on the modern enlightenment and unknowingly shares its prejudices. And there is one prejudice of the enlightenment that is essential to it: the fundamental prejudice of the enlightenment is the prejudice against prejudice itself, which deprives tradition of its power. (pp. 239–240)

Gadamer demonstrates through historical analysis that the concept of prejudice acquires a negative value as a result of enlightenment attitudes towards Church authority and tradition which were themselves discredited the concept of reason.18 17 The quote is from Habermas’ Protestbeweguncr und Hochschulreform only partly translated in Towards a Rational Society (1971). 18 The term “tradition” as it is employed in contemporary social science literature is often used in a pejorative fashion. Characteristically, it is mentioned, if at all, as a source or type of authority

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Only the use of reason, witnessed for example in Descartes’ idea of method, can safeguard us against all error. Modern science’s preoccupation with and commitment to truth and certainty through method is thus a product of this enlightenment attitude and shares with it the prejudice against prejudice. The pre-enlightenment meaning of the concept of prejudice was simply “prejudgement”—a judgement “given before all the elements that determine a situation have been finally examined” (p. 240)—and, accordingly, the concept could have equally either a positive or negative value. While the enlightenment distinction between faith in authority and the use of one’s own reason is, in itself, legitimate, the further move to exclude the possibility that authority and tradition can also be a source of truth, is not, Gadamer (1975a), then, seeks to rehabilitate authority and tradition as those positive prejudices which are the very conditions of understanding. In a later essay entitled “The Universality of the Hermeneutical Problem”, Gadamer (1976a) maintains it is our prejudices which constitute our being. Prejudices are not necessarily unjustified and erroneous, so that they inevitably distort the truth. In fact, the historicity of our existence entails that prejudices, in the literal sense of the word, constitute the initial directedness of our whole ability to experience. Prejudices are biases of our openness to the world. They are simply conditions whereby we experience something - whereby what we encounter says something to us. (p. 9)

Kisiel (1969) rightly acknowledges that “Gadamer focuses on the that the actual situation in which human understanding takes place is always an understanding through language within a tradition, both of which have always been manifest considerations in hermeneutical thinking” (p. 359). Tradition, a form of authority defended by romanticism against the enlightenment, is the source of our prejudices: “we owe to romanticism this correction of the enlightenment, that tradition has a justification that is outside the arguments of reason and in large measure determines our institutions and our attitudes” (Gadamer 1975a, p. 249). But tradition, as Gadamer describes it, is not something other or alien to us that we can distance and free ourselves of in an objectifying process. We always stand in a tradition; it is always part of us. It is clear that Gadamer (1975a) is concerned with truths that go beyond the range of methodical knowledge (p. xiii). He is not concerned to elaborate a system of rules which describe or direct the methodological approach of the human sciences. His purpose is philosophic in the sense that the primary object of his investigation is the question “how is understanding (verstehen) possible?” (pp. xvi–xviii). In seeking an answer to this question Gadamer (1975a) follows the direction pointed to by Heidegger.19 In Being and Time (1962) understanding/language is

(following Weber) and contrasted with “science” and “reason”. Both Friedrich (1972) and Shils (1981) trace the blindness of the social sciences to “tradition” to the enlightenment. Paradoxically, mainstream social science which owes most to the tradition of the enlightenment, they maintain, has inherited both a sceptical attitude toward tradition and atemporal conceptions of society which do not acknowledge its force. For recent exceptions to this state of affairs see Eisenstadt (1972) and Jain (1977). 19 Gadamer was a student of both Heidegger and Bultmann.

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conceived of as the very mode of Dasein’s Being.20 The question to Being is central to all of Heidegger’ s writings; it is also central to the history of traditional metaphysics. But Heidegger wishes to destroy and replace traditional metaphysics in its approach to Being in order to substitute a more primordial and authentic perspective of Being. Heidegger maintains that traditional metaphysics, employing a scientific, calculative method, has approached the question of Being from a literal, representational viewpoint, and as a result the Being-question has lapsed into an inquiry about things. Heidegger, by contrast, seeks a method in hermeneutical phenomenology for only a purely phenomenological method will permit access to the realm of ontology: “Only as phenomenology is ontology possible” (1962, p. 60). Kisiel (1969) explains this important point further: the concept ‘hermeneutic’ designates the fundamental movement of Dasein, which constitutes its finitude and historicity and thus circumscribes the whole of its world experience… Since human experience is hermeneutical through and through, its description along these lines constitutes an all-embracing and hence philosophical hermeneutic. (p. 361)

The datum Heidegger discovers as the focus of his phenomenological-hermeneutical approach is man himself as the very inquirer into the Being-question. The very posing of the question presupposes that his Being is self-transparent. Dasein, then, is a term Heidegger uses to denote this inquirer-man viewed in his existential situation (as Being-in-the-world), and an analysis of Dasein thereby becomes the source of Being’s disclosure: fundamental ontology, from which alone all other ontologies can take their rise, must be sought in the existential analytic of Dasein. (1962, p. 34)

For Heidegger, language is the manner of Dasein’s “Being-in” the world, and time is the horizon which makes it possible to understand the meaning of Being. Dasein is a being-in-the-world (“a unitary phenomenon,” p. 78), not as an entity inside it in terms of spatial enclosure, but as that which relates or projects itself into worldly involvements in a multitude of ways. The language of ontology, Heidegger maintains, is non-representational; it is fundamentally “mediative” in contrast to the “essential thinking” lying behind representational language (cf. Rorty 1980). Thus, philosophy as the study of Being is more akin to poetry than to science. The ontological ground of beings remains obscured in traditional metaphysics precisely because in employing a scientific, calculative method and representational language it has sought Being in some objective form (the ego cogito of Descartes, the subject, the “I”, reason, spirit, person). It has, in other words, reduced Being to the status of a thing. Our “fallenness from Being” is the malaise of the Western language-tradition for eventful language is grounded in Being rather than merely in human thought where Being is considered as a mere concept. Language has ontological significance; it is “the house of Being”. Following Heidegger’s ontological critique of consciousness 20 I do not intend to provide an exposition of Heidegger’s philosophy (such a task is beyond my present resources in any case). Rather I hope to outline some major Heideggerian themes which influence Gadamer.

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(Dasein as “being-in-the-world”), Gadamer (1975a) construes our involvement in tradition, in history, as an active process constitutive of understanding. Tradition is not simply a pre-condition into which we come, but we produce it ourselves, inasmuch as we understand, participating in the evolution of tradition and hence further determine it ourselves. Thus the circle of understanding is not a ‘methodological’ circle, but describes an ontological structural element in understanding. (p. 261)

Heidegger’s influence on Gadamer’s thinking is not merely in indicating that the hermeneutic approach should be ontological rather than epistemological—the “Being of history”—but also in characterizing a much broader conception of verstehen; one which breaks with the “methodological” emphasis of modern science “to rejoin a longer tradition of theological and juridical hermeneutic concerned with the more practical problems of the preacher and the judge and dealing with modes of knowledge and truth not strictly scientific” (Kisiel 1969, p. 361). The focus on understanding considered not so much as an action of subjectivity but as entering into an occurrence of transmission in which past and present are constantly being mediated leads to the acceptance of Heidegger’s “hermeneutic of facticity”—a radical finitude and temporality beyond which one cannot go. The epistemological problem for finite understanding is… not a matter of discarding prejudices in order to begin absolutely, but to determine what distinguishes the legitimate prejudices from the prejudices which obstruct understanding. It is not a matter of a rejection but of a cultivation of a tradition that still lives on in us, in such a way that it not only gives us access to the past, but also continually opens up new possibilities of meaning. (Kisiel 1969, p. 362)

Tradition, then, as Linge (1976) acknowledges, “defines the ground the interpreter himself occupies when he understands”, a fact overlooked by the neoKantians “whose orientation to the sciences presupposed the essentially situationless, non-historical subject of transcendental philosophy” (p. xv). Temporal distance is not something to be overcome—the naive assumption of historicism—for “True historical thinking must take account of its own historicality” (Gadamer 1975a, p. 267). Gadamer (1976a), at one point, states his position in summary form: My thesis is—and I think it is the necessary consequence of recognizing the operativeness of history in our conditionedness and finitude—that the thing which hermeneutics teaches us is to see through the dogmatism of asserting an opposition and separation between the ongoing, natural ‘tradition’ and the reflective appropriation of it. For behind this assertion stands a dogmatic objectivism that distorts the very concept of hermeneutical reflection itself. In this objectivism the understander is seen… not in relation to the hermeneutical situation and the constant operativeness of history in its own consciousness, but in such a way as to imply that his own understanding does not enter into the event. (p. 28)

Understanding is not reconstruction, re-enactment or restoration. It is a mediation of the past into the present—Gadamer talks of it as the “fusion of horizons” (1975a, pp. 269 ff). In one sense this is the centre of his magnum opus, Truth and Method, for he tells us that while he did not intend “to deny the necessity of methodical work in the human sciences” (p. xvii), the hermeneutics he develops is “an attempt to understand

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what the human sciences truly are beyond their methodical self-consciousness, and what connects them with the totality of our experience of world” (p. xiii). In asking the philosophical question—“How is understanding possible?”—his purpose is: to discover what is common to all modes of understanding and to show that understanding is never subjective behaviour towards a given ‘object’, but towards its effective history—the history of its influence; in other words, understanding belongs to the being of that which is understood. (p. xix)

There is still one more move foreshadowed earlier though yet to be completed in the exposition of Gadamer is the final step towards the recognition of the importance of language in hermeneutics inherent in interpretation and thus in tradition—which relates to the third section of Truth and Method. Language is the medium of the hermeneutical experience. It determines the hermeneutical object and the hermeneutical act. Understanding as a fusion of horizons is essentially a linguistic process. The prejudices Gadamer speaks of as constitutive of our being can now be seen to be embedded in our language and transmitted in the language that we use. Thus, tradition is immanently operative in the use of language, and as such the ontological structure of understanding is revealed in “being-in-language”. Hermeneutics emerges as a phenomenology of language: The more language is a living operation, the less we are aware of it. Thus it follows from the forgetfulness of language that its real being consists in what is said in it. What is said in it constitutes the common world in which we live and to which belongs also the whole great chain of tradition reaching us from the literature of foreign languages living as well as dead. The real being of language is that into which we are taken up when we hear it—what is said. (1976a, p. 65)

The notion of understanding as a fusion has, therefore, more in common with a dialogue than with the traditional model of hermeneutics as a body of techniques or method of interpretation performed by a knowing subject upon a historical object. The hermeneutical “conversation”, as a dialogical encounter equal reciprocity between partners matter: “tradition is a genuine partner in communication, with which we have fellowship as does the ‘I’ with a ‘Thou’” (1975a, p. 321). To reach an understanding with one’s partner in a dialogue is not merely a matter of total self-expression and the successful assertion of one’s own point of view, but a transformation into a communion, in which we do not remain what we were. (1975a, p. 341)

The transformation of hermeneutics can thus be seen as a progressive movement involving three phases. The first phase, that of Schleiermacher and Dilthey, stresses the historical specificity of the object, or alien other, to be understood; the second Heideggerian phase stresses the historicity of the concrete subject as Dasein; and the third phase, represented by Gadamer’s hermeneutics, goes beyond both to emphasize the historicity of the “understanding event” which fuses the horizons of self and other (Ermath 1981; c f. Bleicher 1980). The hermeneutical circle is not “vicious” as Kisiel (1969) points out, for it is not a logical circle in which propositions are deduced from formal axioms. It is rather,

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the intrinsically circular structure of temporal existence whose future projects are necessarily determined and guided by past presuppositions. The anticipations of meaning which guide our understanding of a text… emerge from a spontaneous preunderstanding of the presuppositions of the text arising from the common affinity that we and it have with the tradition in which we find ourselves. (p. 362)

This “common affinity” is not transparent to us, however, and hermeneutic consciousness only begins at the point when the familiarity of the message of a tradition falls away to become strange and problematic. The temporal distance that is then created between us, the interpreters, and the transmitted message is not a handicap, or, more properly, a gulf to be methodologically overcome, rather it is a necessary and positive feature for it serves not only to filter out those errors which arise from being too close to, say, a historical event, but also serves to generate new sources of understanding. It is temporal distance that serves to distinguish the true prejudgements from the false obstructive prejudices and hence is the condition for the resolution of the critical epistemological problem of hermeneutic. (Kisiel 1969, p. 363)

These new understanding possibilities are inherent in the essence of the question for the authentic hermeneutic situation is one where we are open enough to permit the text to question us, and ultimately to enter into a dialogue with it. The dialectic of question and answer is, then, the locus for authentic understanding and one which does not invoke methodological presuppositions for “the questioning does not posit anything, but only probes the possibilities lying fallow in the hermeneutic situation and sprung open in the tension of the dialectic” (Kisiel 1969, p. 364). It is no wonder then that the dialectic of question and answer suggests the reciprocal relation of a conversation as a model for the hermeneutic phenomenon. In the essay entitled “The Heritage of Hegel” (1981) Gadamer discusses the evolution of his hermeneutics model of dialectic and dialogue: there emerged all at once and behind all methodology of the Geisteswissenschaften and all epistemology the unity of dialogue and dialectic that related Hegel and Plato to one another in a surprising manner, and this set the hermeneutic experience free. It was no longer confined to the ‘being-toward-a-text’, to the procedure for interrogating and construing pre-given texts by the methodically informed interpreter. Suddenly the motivating interest that antecedes all knowledge and interpretation, the mystery of the question took the center. A question arises; it imposes itself; it is indemonstrable. (p. 47)

A conversation model not only emphasizes the eventfulness of language but also its creativity. In any genuine conversation the creative sum is more than the individual contributions of its participants. It exhibits a structure which grows spontaneously and creatively out of the participant’s contributions but yet is not the direct result of a pre-thought direction. Language as conversation, in other words, has a transpersonal dimension which transcends the individuals concerned, and understanding occurs in the form of a mediation between horizons of present and past, self and other. This mediation, then, takes place in and through language. Gadamer emphasizes that there is no method for learning how to ask questions. His observations on the dialectic of question and answer, and on dialogue or conversation

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as the model for the hermeneutic phenomenon, lead him to make connections both with the ancient art of rhetoric and with the Aristotelian theory of phronesis which he wants to revive as the basis of an all-embracing practical rationality within the more general theory of interpretation and understanding.21 With a return to the political and practical philosophy of Aristotle, Gadamer hopes to overcome the breakdown of tradition, and the consequent loss of the normative and political orientations in Western society which was once provided by the Christian tradition. Following the separation of the sciences from philosophy, and the failure of Hegelianism to bridge, modern society has attempted “to find in science a substitute for lost orientations” (1975b, p. 307). As a result, science, dominated by a detached theoretical interest determined by method, “invests the expert with an exaggerated authority” (ibid., p. 312), leads to a distortion of what practice really is, and, accordingly, deforms attempts at genuine cultural self-understanding. In all debates of the last century practice was understood as application of science to technical tasks. That is a very inadequate notion. It degrades practical reason to technical control. In fact, reason as guiding our practical behaviour is much more than technical control…. It is a universal form of life which embraces, yet goes beyond, the technical choice of the best means for a pre-given end. Aristotle’s concept of prudence includes, as a matter of fact, the concrete determination of the end. (ibid., p. 312)

The chief task of philosophy in the Age of Science is to defend this practical and political reason, which “can only be realized and transmitted dialogically”, against the “domination of technology based on science” (1975b, p. 316). It is important to consider briefly at this point the way in which the heritage of Hegel is preserved by Gadamer22 for it provides a clear linkage with Critical Hermeneutics23 and, more importantly for my purpose, it consolidates the connections between Gadamer’s philosophical hermeneutics and the Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein that I have advanced. The confluence of Gadamer’s and Wittgenstein’s thought is heightened through a Hegelian-inspired phenomenology of language which stresses the historicity of understanding, and a Hegelian critique of Kant in the realm of epistemology. Understanding for Gadamer is to be seen not as a simple act of subjectivity but as an insertion into the process of tradition where the past is mediated into the present and projected into the future. Gadamer’s notion of an “effective” history recalls Hegel’s theory of the objective spirit both in its anti-subjectivist, anti-psychologistic implications and in its emphasis on the mediational character of experience. 21 See his two essays, “Hermeneutics as Practical Philosophy” and “Hermeneutics as a Theoretical and Practical Task” in Gadamer (1981, pp. 88–112 and pp. 113–138). Compare Gadamer on rhetoric with Perelman (1969, 1979). Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1969) have sought to develop a theory of argumentation, based on the tradition of Greek rhetoric and dialectic, which “constitutes a break with a concept of reason and reasoning due to Descartes…” (p. 1). 22 See Gadamer’s essay of the same title (1981, pp. 38–68), and his earlier hermeneutical studies of Hegel (1976). 23 For the debate, and relations between Gadamer’s and Habermas’ “hermeneutics” see my discussion below.

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Lawrence (1981), for example, maintains that Gadamer’s interpretation of Hegel avoids: the extremes represented by either the conservative Hegelians of the right who might be said to overstress the hermeneutics of recovery to the point of legitimating the status quo [e.g., Schleiermacher and Dilthey], or the Marxist Hegelians of the left, who would make absolute the hermeneutics of suspicion [e.g., Habermas and the Frankfurt School]. (p. xx)

This is surely accurate, and it is borne out by Gadamer’s own remarks. In narrating how the heritage of Hegel has been transposed in his own thought, and having just noted that the theory of objective spirit had become the most effective heritage both of Dilthey’s school and of neo-Kantianism, Gadamer (1981) remarks: And so it remained for me to decide—between the alternatives of the ‘psychological reconstruction of past thought’ and the ‘integration of past thought into one’s own thought’— against Schleiermacher and in favour of Hegel. To be sure, Hegel’s Philosophy of World History remained caught in the insoluble contradiction of an open progress of history and a conclusive apprehension of its meaning, and it could not be repeated if one were intent on taking historicity seriously. (p. 40)

Yet Lawrence’s (1981) comment in favour of Gadamer plays down the problem, of “false consciousness” and the prima facie case for the existence of ideological structures evidenced in propaganda, censorship and less obvious forms of manipulation and oppression which give rise to it. A crucial question facing Gadamer is exactly that raised by the critical hermeneutics of Habermas “who would make absolute the hermeneutics of suspicion” and thereby cast doubt on the a priori assumption Gadamer makes concerning the superiority of tradition and its ubiquitous nature. This is a question we will investigate in more detail below. Following Heidegger’s ontological turn—Heidegger’s “hermeneutics of facticity”—Gadamer resists Hegel’s theory of absolute spirit in order to emphasize the historicity of all understanding, and thus of all thought. It is in this way that the problem of history is brought together with the epistemological status of philosophy itself, and consolidated in a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein. Both Gadamer and Wittgenstein stress the historicity of all understanding in a phenomenology of language which applies to philosophy as much as any other field of intellectual endeavour. Both are concerned to overcome the Cartesian problematic that has dominated Western philosophy for three centuries. Both stress that philosophy cannot stand outside ordinary language and thought to evaluate it by reference to some external standard. While there are some important differences between the two centering on the mediational character of language—which a relativistic and pluralistic reading of Wittgenstein tends to highlight—a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein offsets the differences against the more important similarities. Gadamer (1976a) himself, tends to focus on the more overwhelming similarities at the expense of differences in detail. Having given an interpretation of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy from the point of view of hermeneutics, he makes the following observation: Unwelcome as this characterization may be, this much at least may have become clear: something like a convergence is occurring between Wittgenstein’s critique of Anglo-Saxon semantics on the one hand and the criticism of the ahistorical art of phenomenological description

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[ sic] that is made by self-criticism of language, that is, by hermeneutical consciousness on the other hand.

The way we trace the use of concepts back into their history in order to awaken their real, living, evocative meaning seems to me to converge with Wittgenstein’s study of living language-games, and indeed with everything moving in the same direction (p. 127).24 To be sure others have commented on this convergence.25 Apel (1980) in an essay entitled “Wittgenstein and the Problem of Hermeneutic Understanding”, for instance, maintains that the later Wittgenstein shares with hermeneutics a belief in the priority of “life” over abstract questions of logic.26 As soon as the emphasis moves from a single calculus of logic to a diversity of language-games embedded in human life the hermeneutical problem emerges. We cannot use language “outside” a given languagegame for all language is part of a whole. In this sense, then, we can understand that there is no such thing as presuppositionless exegesis, or understanding without preunderstanding. It is a state of affairs reflected in Wittgenstein’s remark: “The aspects of things that are most important for us are hidden because of their simplicity and familiarity. (One is unable to notice something—because it is always before one’s eyes)” (PI, 129). Wittgenstein’s hermeneutical interest is evident in his emphasis on particularity and on “life”, and in the notion that language-games operate in a growing, changing context: “When language-games change, then there is a change in concepts, and with the concepts the meanings of words change” (OC, 65; cf. Z, 567). Wittgenstein clearly grounds language-games in human practice—in use, application or training (PI5; Z, 173). This interest is evident not only in the content of Wittgenstein’s writings but also in its form. Cavell (1968), for instance, maintains that Wittgenstein’s distinctive style serves to prevent any understanding that is not accompanied by inner change. In the Preface to the Investigations, Wittgenstein confesses he makes his thoughts public with some personal misgivings: It is not impossible that it should fall to the lot of this work, in its poverty and in the darkness of this time, to bring light into one brain or another—but, of course, it is not likely. I should not like my writing to spare other people the trouble of thinking. But, if possible, to stimulate someone to thoughts of his own. (p. viii)

Kenny (1959) notes that Wittgenstein poses 734 questions in the Investigations; of this number only 110 are answered and no less than 70 of these are meant to be wrong (p. 232). Both Wittgenstein and Gadamer exhibit a concern for philosophical description, and both, accordingly, have been dubbed “conservative”. On this basis, Wittgenstein’s 24 For

Gadamer on Wittgenstein see also (1976a, p. 75 and pp. 173–177) and Linge’s (1976) “Introduction”, pp. xxxiii–xi, Gadamer (1975a, p. 500, fn. 12; 1981, p. 164). 25 See Sefler (1974) for an analysis of the similarities of Wittgenstein and Heidegger; see also Pannenberg (1976, pp. 183–184). 26 Apel, however, maintains that both Wittgenstein and Gadamer exhibit an uncritical acceptance of linguistic tradition.

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later linguistic philosophy and Gadamer’s hermeneutic have been “criticized for being expressions of an uncritical acceptance of linguistic tradition” (Pannenberg 1976, p. 183). In Wittgenstein’s later philosophy ordinary “everyday language plays an authoritative role similar to that of tradition in Gadamer’s hermeneutics” (ibid., p. 184). Wittgenstein’s notion of rule following is crucially relevant here, for to follow a rule is a custom or an institution embedded in agreement and anchored in our acting which lies at the bottom of the language-game: Certainly, the problem of the interpretation of any rule can be raised, and it may be settled by reference to agreements in social behaviour, but in the last analysis, rule following is blind; it cannot be explained or justified. Time and again Wittgenstein is at pains to show that it is agreement not in beliefs or opinions but agreement in forms of life, in the foundations of our judgements which is the necessary precondition of order, logic and communication: “It is what human beings say that is true and false and they agree in the language they use” (P.I., 241). Nyiri (1982) in attempting to explain Wittgenstein’s later work in relation to conservatism draws the following conclusion: although any given form of life, mode of thought and behaviour, can be superseded by or have superimposed upon itself other forms of life, it cannot actually be criticized. All criticism presupposes a form of life, a language, that is, a tradition of agreements; every judgement is necessarily embedded in traditions. That is why traditions cannot be judged. ‘One can only describe here.’ Wittgenstein wrote in 1931’ and says this is what human life is like’. (p. 59)

Nyiri (1982) emphasizes that while Wittgenstein strives to show that the given form of life is the ultimate givenness—“that the given form of life cannot be consciously transcended”—he is perfectly aware that there are different forms of life and, therefore, different ultimate givennesses. But all have the same value. The unalterable, anthropological fact is “that any human being must, in order to be a human being, be constrained by some form of life, by some network of tradition” (p. 59).27 Whether Wittgenstein should be interpreted, along with Gadamer, in terms of a thesis of conservatism is problematic, especially given his own efforts to break with the thought-habits of contemporary Western civilization and his Spenglerian distrust for the Western belief in “progress” based on science and technology (Von Wright 1982). It is the case at any rate that criticisms have been voiced against Wittgenstein’s and Gadamer’s allegedly uncritical acceptance of linguistic tradition, though it is by no means clear what is centrally at stake. While Wittgenstein and Gadamer are concerned to describe the conditions of understanding and language-use in the ultimate givenness of traditions or forms of life it is not at all clear that this commits them to an uncritical acceptance or to a “fatalism” concerning the conscious and active overthrow of specific traditions. Whether or not Wittgenstein and Gadamer are so committed is, to some extent, both relevant and instructive, but rather than to pursue this difficult question separately here I have chosen to continue with the 27 See Nyiri’s (1982) conclusion that “Wittgenstein’s conceptual analyses can in fact be regarded as

a kind of foundation of conservatism” paralleled in the work of Michael Oakeshott (p. 61).

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historical exposition of a form of contemporary hermeneutics which begins with this general problem.

(d) The Critical Hermeneutics of Apel and Habermas Both Apel (1980) and Habermas,28 while in general accepting Gadamer’s focus on subjectively intended meaning as characteristic of the Geisteswissenschaften, share a similar set of objections to the “uncritical” acceptance of tradition, and to the “idealism” of Gadamer’s hermeneutics which regards language as a transcendental absolute, unconstrained by particular socio-historical conditions and structures.29 Specifically, they challenge Gadamer’s assumption concerning the a priori superiority of tradition, and the “ontologization of language” which implies a refusal to acknowledge that language can be used as an instrument or medium of domination and which implicitly denies any regulative principle of progress in knowledge. The idealism that follows from the autonomy of language and tradition in Gadamer’s hermeneutics, they maintain, does not take account of the material sociohistorical conditions and forces—characterized by the level of economic development reached and the prevailing forms of political domination—which set the parameters for the development of consciousness and the exchange of meaning.30 At best, the unconstrained, unimpeded dialogue that typifies Gadamer’s hermeneutics is only the anticipation of an authentic state of human existence which has yet to be realized. Significantly, both Apel (1980) and Habermas opt for a conception of critical hermeneutics as a dialectical social science mediating the technical and the practical interests (rationalities) respectively of the empirical-analytic sciences and of the hermeneutical sciences. Neither Apel (1980) nor Habermas wants to deny that the hermeneutical or empirical-analytic sciences represent legitimate modes of investigation. Their apparent opposition is a reflection of the fact that they focus on different realms of a disjointed reality. A dialectical social science, then, recognizes that social existence is not only characterized by the meanings and intentions of those acting within it, but also by a material socio-historical context that enables as well as curtails the expression and realization of intentions. There is room, in other words, for an intentional understanding and causal explanation of human behaviour/action. Actions which originate from an inadequate understanding of its own motives or intentions— actions that are typically constrained, for instance, in a “false consciousness” under bureaucratic capitalism—become understandable with the help of an explanatory framework depicting its “causes”. The realm of critical hermeneutics is, therefore, 28 Habermas’ works are referenced in a subsequent discussion, see below. All references are given by date of English translation, although original date of publication is given in the bibliography. 29 Cf. the criticisms of the “knowledge as production” thesis in Chapter III: the issue of social agency versus structuralism raises its head, though in a different form, in the hermeneutical context. 30 While the later Wittgenstein has been criticized on grounds of idealism, it is clear that his account of language is rooted in everyday actions, institutions and customs, but such actions are not systematically related to material structures which provide the parameters.

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that of a critique of ideology. In attempting to evidence the grounds of this critique both Apel (1980) and Habermas are led to a formal and abstract ethics based on the emancipation of intentions—an ideal which is inherent in language itself, as free or unconstrained dialogue. It is the anticipation of an authentic form of human existence exemplified in the “ideal communicative community” which provides the basis for the critique of present forms of life and the systematically distorted intersubjective communication associated with it. The paradigm of the critique of ideology for both Apel (1980) and Habermas is the model of psychoanalysis which in a social re-orientation, enables members of a subjugated class (patient) to overcome their “false consciousness” (symptomatic behaviour) under capitalistic ideology through the combined use of causal explanation and self-understanding.31 With this broad outline of their parallel attempts to construct a critical hermeneutics, it must not be forgotten that there are differences in detail. Further, it is clear that while both draw on insights developed by philosophical hermeneutics, and, indeed, exhibit agreement with much of what Gadamer has to say, fundamentally they direct their criticisms at the conservative tenor of Gadamer’s views. This does not mean, of course, that Gadamer himself has accepted these criticisms as valid. In fact, there has been an ongoing debate between Gadamer and Habermas, in which Gadamer has replied to Habermas’ criticisms and raised a number of problems for a critique of ideology.32 Gadamer (1975b), for instance, in contrast to Apel and Habermas who maintain that we require criteria for distinguishing between understanding and misunderstanding before we can answer the question of the possibility of understanding, holds that “there can be no communication and no reflection at all without a prior basis of common agreement” (p. 315). He regards the claim of Critical Theory that we can reinstate authentic communication (dialogue) by emancipatory reflection, as both naive and self-contradictory: My objection is that the critique of ideology overestimates the competence of reflection and reason. Inasmuch as it seeks to penetrate the masked interests which infect public opinion, it implies its own freedom from any ideology; and that means in turn that it enthrones its own norms and ideals as self-evident and absolute. (1975b, p. 315)

Gadamer’s objection to Habermas here can be captured in the question: What justification can be offered for the standpoint of critical hermeneutics itself? In other words, Habermas must demonstrate that the standpoint from which a critique of ideology operates is not itself ideological. In order to see how Habermas attempts to deal with this important criticism we must examine his account of critical hermeneutics more fully.33 Habermas (1974) 31 The similarities between the projects of Apel and Habermas can be traced back to their early discussions whilst attending university; see Habermas (1971, p. vii). For a discussion which relates Habermas to the Frankfurt School see Held (1980). 32 For example, see Cultural Hermeneutics (1975). Summaries of the debate see Bleicher (1980), and Duprew (1981). 33 In the following section I do not claim to attempt to briefly survey Habermas’ thought, to do so would be presumptuous, rather I attend primarily to those aspects of his work which will enable an appreciation of the kind of answer he proposes.

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maintains that it is only when language and tradition are interpreted within a material framework consisting of the systems of labour, interaction and domination that we are in a position to understand the “objective” context within which social actions have to be understood. This framework would no longer leave tradition and language as transcendental absolutes for it would enable us to grasp traditioned meaning in relationship to other moments of the totality of social existence, and thus view the empirical conditions external to tradition. Only a dialectical social science can recognize and reconcile the claims of the empirical-analytic and hermeneutical sciences in a mediation which perceives both the inherent regularity of human behaviour arising from structurally imposed constraints and the way in which the intentions of social actors are hidden from the actor himself or re-defined for the actor by external agencies. A dialectical social science, therefore, aims at a theoretical framework which would allow the objective understanding of subjectively intended meaning. Habermas (1970a, b, 1971a) chooses a blending of both hermeneutic philosophy and psychoanalysis34 as the means by which to break through the context of subjectively intended meanings characteristic of everyday language to a theoretical framework, which enables objective understanding of systematically distorted communication, and provide a programmatic outline of the structure of genuine communication or dialogue.35 Much of the groundwork for what Habermas calls “depth hermeneutics” was done in his now classic piece Knowledge and Hunan Interests (1971a; see particularly Part Three). There he maintains that psychoanalysis is the “only tangible example of a science incorporating methodical self-reflection” but adds that it becomes a suitable basis for a critique of ideology only when it is stripped of its “scientistic selfmisunderstanding inaugurated by Freud himself” (p. 214). Psychoanalysis understood as “metahermeneutics” unfolds “the logic of interpretation in the analytic situation of dialogue” (p. 254) and as such provides a general interpretation of self-formative processes. Just as psychoanalysis which has the intention of enlightenment through selfreflection, “meta-hermeneutics”, transposed into the social realm, will enable members of the subjugated class to understand how the capitalist system manipulates their interests in the service of an unjust social system that hides its contradictions behind the body of shared assumptions that is handed down to us as “tradition”. 34 Note Wittgenstein’s admiration for and references to Freud; see particularly Lectures and Conver-

sations on Aesthetics (1966). On the relationship between Freud and Wittgenstein, see McGuiness (1982) who argues that Wittgenstein still regarded himself as a disciple of Freud in 1940. McGuiness (1982) maintains that Wittgenstein learnt from Freud “the idea that meaning is not there all at once but is something that appears in the course of discussion, so that understanding is a process extended in time” (p. 40). Further, there are strong hints of a Freudian “metahermeneutics” construed in a Habermasian sense (see below) in Wittgenstein’s therapeutic view of philosophy; in his attraction to the model of interpretation of dreams; and in his notions of a “depth” grammar, and acceptance of “mythology”. 35 Habermas (1971a, 1980) mentions also two other possibilities for achieving the same purpose— genetic epistemology and generative linguistics.

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Habermas (1971a) builds on this insight into the possibility of breaking through culturally traditioned meaning by linking Freud to Marx. He begins with the way in which the notions of “normality” and “deviance” are culturally defined—the distinction between the two has only a conventional value. If this is so, then it is possible that a society as a whole could itself be in a pathological state when compared to other cultures. What Freud calls the diagnosis of communal neuroses requires an investigation that goes beyond the criteria of a given institutional framework and takes into account the history of the cultural evolution of the human species, the ‘process of civilization’. (p. 274)

Habermas (1971a) claims that this evolutionary perspective is further suggested by the attempted resolution of a fundamental conflict between the functions of selfpreservation and the transcending potential of libidinal needs. The function of the system of self-preservation is represented by the institutional demands of society, visited by teachers onto their students and parents onto their young. This external reality and authority, Habermas maintains by reference to Freud, has, in part, an economic foundation, and the basic conflict is to be defined in terms of historically variable conditions of material labour and economic scarcity. The pressure of reality and the corresponding degree of societal repression [achieved through institutional socialization of the young to master denial or renunciation] then depend on the degree of technical control over the natural forces as well as on the organization of their exploitation and the distribution of goods produced… This suggests a comparison of the world—historical process of social organization with the socialization process of the individual… The same configurations that drive the individual to neurosis move society to establish institutions. (pp. 275–276)

This evolutionary perspective, then, provides a basis for the deciphering of cultural tradition for, as Habermas (1971a) attempts to show in a quotation from Freud: All of the history of civilization shows only the paths men have taken to bind their unsatisfied wishes under the varying conditions of fulfillment and denial by reality, which are changed by technical progress (p. 276, from “The Claims of Psychoanalysis to Scientific Interest”).

Like Marx, Freud regards “civilization” (society) as the means by which the human species elevates itself above animal conditions of existence, and like Marx, he also distinguishes between the forces of production and the relations of production (p. 277). Habermas maintains that in the system of self-preservation (i.e., society) repression in the form of constraints must be universally imposed, independent of class- interests. With the advent of capitalism, however, the system is administered by a social class which, under the legitimizing guise of tradition, operates to link class-specific privations and denials to general ones. Habermas (1971a) claims that in metapsychology Freud had provided us with a framework for distorted communicative action that is based on a conceptualization of the origins of institutions and the role and function of illusions, i.e., of power and ideology: Freud comprehends institutions as a power that has exchanged acute external force for the permanent internal compulsion of distorted and self-limiting communication. Correspondingly he understands cultural tradition as the collective unconscious, censored in varying

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measure and turned outwards, where motives that have been split off from communication are driven incessantly about and are directed by the excluded symbols into channels of substitute gratification. These motives, rather than external danger and immediate sanction, are now forces that hold sway over consciousness by legitimating power. These are the same forces from which ideologically imprisoned consciousness can free itself through self-reflection when a new potential for the mastery of nature makes old legitimations lack credibility. (pp. 281–282)36

Habermas, thereby, attempts to refute the hermeneutic claim to universality by showing that in the form of a “depth” hermeneutic we can transcend the “dialogue that we are”. Gadamer claims that the pre-judgemental structure of understanding prohibits us from questioning the background consensus which is established in tradition, and leads him to conclude to the “ontological priority of linguistic tradition over all possible critique” (Habermas 1980, p. 204). In reply, Habermas (1980) points out that Gadamer’s position is acceptable only if we could be certain that each consensus arrived at in the medium of linguistic tradition has been achieved without compulsion and distortion. Within Gadamer’s notions of the ontologization of language and the hypostatization of the context of tradition, there is no room for a distinction between insight and delusion. A “depth” hermeneutic, then, provides a model of emancipatory praxis in that its object is to sensitize us to the ruling interests active behind tradition and the manipulation of public opinion. Such a model is emancipatory in a way that hermeneutic philosophy cannot be, for the latter is tied to an understanding and pre-understanding of everyday language as the medium of tradition, and, thus, remains unable to question or initiate processes of reflection which can be used to dissolve ideological barriers to genuine dialogue. The task for Habermas is far from being finished for he must provide some criterion to distinguish the “false” consensus of cultural tradition characteristic of everyday language, from the “true” consensus which is presupposed by a critique of ideology. This move is made in terms of a theory of communicative competence, and the criterion Habermas seeks,—is established by reference to the notion of a “discourse”. For Habermas (1980) a critically enlightened hermeneutic: connects the process of understanding to the principle of rational discourse, according to which truth would only be guaranteed by that kind of consensus which was achieved under the idealized conditions of unlimited communication free from domination… (p. 205)

Drawing on Apel’s “ideal speech community”, and Mead’s notion of a “universal discourse” Habermas argues that, in the last analysis, the “idea of truth, which measures itself on a true consensus, implies the idea of the true life” (ibid., p. 206). In fact, Habermas has re-asserted the opposition between Reason and Authority that Gadamer had attempted to supersede by making the hermeneutic claim to universality. So far, however, Habermas’ theory of communicative (dialogue) competence is but a programmatic sketch, yet in order to understand the progress he has made in 36 For

a fuller exposition of the relevance of Freud’s metapsychology to a “depth” hermeneutic, see Habermas (1980).

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his researches we need to cover ground also contained in his earlier work Knowledge and Human Interests (1971a). Habermas’ theory is an attempt to uncover those “deep” presuppositions governing the act of dialogue that are built into its very structure. Ultimately, Habermas finds that the value of autonomy and responsibility, are grounded, a priori, in the true nature of the dialogical community—a form of life anticipated by any dialogue. In one sense, Habermas has come full circle for in his 1965 Inaugural Lecture, he expresses his central insight as that the truth of statements is linked in the last analysis to the intention of the good and true life.37 This point, foreshadowed above, will become more obvious as we proceed. The Platonic influence evidenced in the connection of truth with the good life, does not stop there. He, further, returns to the Greek notion of theory, one including praxis, as the basis for his critique (1971a, Appendix), and explicitly refers to the critique of language, which for him replaces the traditional problem of consciousness, as the “maieutic” process of reconstructing those presuppositions governing the dialogical encounter. In so doing, he is making a deliberate effort to rework and systematize a philosophical tradition dating back immediately to Hegel and Marx, while simultaneously attempting to counter the pervasive influence of positivism as ideological scientism that has erected an absolutism of pure methodology which precludes the active self-reflection of the knowing subject on the possibility of knowledge. His theory of communicative competence, or “universal pragmatics” as he later terms it, proceeds from his critique of positivism. In Knowledge and Human Interests (1971a) Habermas describes his self-styled task as “a historically oriented attempt to reconstruct the prehistory of modern positivism with the systematic intention of analyzing the connections between knowledge and human interests” (p. vii).38 In order to demonstrate these connections Habermas Units himself to following immanently the movement of thought (p. vii) from Hegel’s critique of Kant—which replaced the enterprise of epistemology with the phenomenological self-reflection of mind39 —to Marx’s meta-critique which appears as an introduction to Marx’s metacritique of Hegel, which reduces the self-generative, self-formative processes of the human species to labour in an instrumentalist fashion (p. 42), ignores, however, symbolic interaction (i.e., language) as a necessary element of human practice, and, thereby, prevents the full development of a materialist epistemology. It is only on the basis of human praxis conceived in terms of labour or work and symbolic interaction (which accredits a role to cultural tradition) that power and ideology can be comprehended: the human interests that have emerged in man’s natural history, to which we have traced back the three knowledge-constitutive interests, derive both from nature and from the cultural break with nature. (p. 312) 37 Habermas’

inaugural lecture is published as an appendix to his Knowledge and Human Interests (1971a, pp. 301–317). 38 For a general perspective of his argument see Appendix (1971a). 39 Habermas quotes Hegel’s “circle of knowledge” criticism, which appears as an introduction to Phenomenology of Mind (p. 7). Cf. my discussion, Chapter 1.

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Marx’s basic error, according to Habermas, is to collapse two strands separate in Hegel’s philosophy—the self-reflection of the subject and the material transformation of the world through labour. By collapsing the former into the latter, i.e., self-formation through reflection into self-formation through productive activity, Marxism engenders an instrumentalism which leaves the door open for the development of positivism.40 Habermas then proceeds to consider positivism and hermeneutics as two contrasting types of philosophy exemplified in the writings of Comte and Mach on the one hand, and Dilthey on the other. Where positivism leads to the abolition of theory of knowledge by occluding the subject’s reflexive examination of the grounds of claims to knowledge, hermeneutics develops insights into the primacy of meaning and understanding but only in isolation from science. Both of these contrasting philosophies are incomplete as they stand, therefore, and any attempt to realize their shortcomings in an effort to transcend them must begin with the recognition that each of them is unwittingly tied to different interests in their disclosure of reality. The three interests Habermas (1971a) identifies as establishing “the specific viewpoints from which we can apprehend reality as such in any way whatsoever”, are “the orientations towards technical control, towards mutual understanding in the conduct of life, and towards emancipation from seemingly… natural constraint” (p. 311). Knowledge-constitutive interests thus, take form in the media of work (instrumental reason), interaction (language), and power (asymmetrical relations of constraint and dependency), and specific connections can be further demonstrated between knowledge-constitutive interests and the logical-methodological rules underlying the three categories of processes of inquiry: The approach of the empirical-analytic sciences incorporates a technical cognitive interest; that of the historical-hermeneutic sciences incorporates a practical one; and the approach of the critically oriented sciences incorporates the emancipatory cognitive interest… that was at the root of traditional theories. (p. 308)

Each of these cognitive interests is, therefore, grounded in a fundamental dimension of social existence. Habermas’ (1971a) central argument against positivism now becomes comprehensible, for he argues, in effect, that positivism of knowledge— i.e., the empirical—the universally valid measure for rationality itself. The positivist interpretation of science, furthermore, presents a technical or instrumental rationality behind a facade of value-freedom in a way that renders it incapable of justifying its own interest. McCarthy (1978), adherent and critic of Habermas, explains the point of this objection in greater detail. The limitation of reason, at the level of theory, to the disinterested employment of the scientific method, and, at the level of practice, to the predictive and technological application of the empirical knowledge that results, renders positivist philosophy incapable of justifying its own interests. If all values are subjective, if practical orientation in life is ultimately beyond rational justification, then the positivist commitment to science and technology and its opposition to dogmatism and ideology is itself subjective and rationally unjustifiable 40 See

Habermas’ (1979a). “Toward a Reconstruction of Historical Materialism,” pp. 131 –177.

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(that is, dogmatic). If, on the other hand, the interest in enlightenment is itself rational, then reason harbors a practical interest and cannot be exhaustively defined in terms of science and technology. (p. 6)

Social theory modelled on the positivist account open to the same criticism, and furthermore such theory based on this technical or instrumental interest will be inherently manipulative. Human beings will be the “objects” of technical control, rather than non-human nature which is the case for the natural sciences. Positivist social theory is also necessarily conservative for it confines social knowledge to a description of what is the case from an instrumentalist perspective, ruling out any consideration of what will be, what could be or what ought to be the case. Finally, this sort of social theory is ideological for it functions as an instrument of power serving the interests of bureaucratic capitalism. Specifically, in advanced capitalism, with an increasing interplay between research and technology, science becomes a leading force of production supported through a technocratic ideology which reduces the practical interest to a technical one (Habermas 1971b, 1976a). It is against this background that Habermas (1971b) gives his account of the open society based on an expanded notion of rationality—one which attempts to reintegrate theory and practice in order to complement the rationalization of science with the rationalization of social life. In his rationalization of social or public life, Habermas proceeds by grounding the objective a priori value of Mundigkeit—autonomy and responsibility—in the conditions necessary for rational discussion and agreement (i.e., consensus) in any sphere, including that of science. The human interest in autonomy and responsibility is not mere fancy, for it can be apprehended a priori. What raises us cut of nature is the only thing whose autonomy and responsibility are posited for us. Our first sentence expresses unequivocally the intention of universal and unconstrained consensus. Taken together, autonomy and responsibility constitute the only Idea the [sic] we possess a priori in the sense of the philosophical tradition… In self-reflection knowledge for the sake of knowledge attains congruence with the interest in autonomy and responsibility. The emancipatory cognitive interest aims at the pursuit of reflection as such. (1971a, p. 314)

This is the basis for Habermas’ theory of communicative (dialogical) competence—a theory which is based on the Socratic dialogue and the Platonic theme that the truth of statements anticipates the realization of the good life in humankind’s evolution towards autonomy and realization.41 As we have seen Habermas sharply distinguishes between work (as the medium) and the related technical interest that guides the empirical-analytic sciences from interaction or “Communicative action” and the related practical interest that guides the historical-hermeneutic sciences. Interaction or “communicative action” we are told, is governed by binding consensual norms which define reciprocal expectations about behaviour and which must be understood and recognized by at least two acting subjects (1971b, p. 92). The

41 Note Habermas’ (1971a) fifth and final thesis: “the unity of knowledge and interest proves itself in a dialectic that takes the historical traces of suppressed dialogue and reconstructs what has been suppressed” (p. 315).

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disciplines guided by a practical interest are concerned with clarifying the conditions of communicative action and intersubjectivity—i.e., the conditions of interaction—which is non-reducible and basic for understanding social and political life. Implicit within these types of knowledge and their respective dimensions of existence—work and interaction—is the dimension of power. It is only in the context of emancipation that unconstrained interaction and non-alienating work can be attained. Thus, the emancipatory interest provides the epistemological basis for Habermas’ normative critique which seeks dialogue-constitutive universals. Bernstein (1976) explains further: We can… grasp what Habermas is up to by appealing to a much older model in philosophy, the Socratic model of self-knowledge whereby, through a process of dialogue the participants achieve self-knowledge and self-reflection which are therapeutic and effect a cognitive affective and practical transformation involving a movement toward autonomy… and responsibility. (p. 199)

Habermas (1970a, b,1976b) wishes to expand the Chomskyan notion of competence in such a way that it is possible to reconstruct in universal terms, not only phonetic, syntactic and semantic features of sentences but also certain pragmatic features that appear in every possible speech situation.42 Following Austin and Searle he adopts the speech act as the primary unit of communication, and distinguishes between the illocutionary aspect of a speech act, that is, the part that carries propositional content, and the illocutionary aspect which carries information about the speaker’s intention. Communication or dialogue is thus seen to have a double structure: each speech act consists of two implicit levels necessary for understanding to take place. At one level the illocutionary force of the utterance establishes the mode of communication between speaker and hearer which governs the relations that permit them to come to an understanding with one another, The other level—the locutionary aspect— establishes the connection of communication with the world of objects and events, about which they want to reach an understanding. Thus, the success of a speech act depends not only on its linguistic comprehensibility which is language-immanent, but also on meeting general conditions of its acceptability which place the speaker’s utterance in relation to those pragmatic, universal and extra-linguistic features of reality that govern speech acts. In ordinary conversation (dialogue)—i.e., the normal context of communicativeaction—we make assertions, evaluations and express ourselves on various matters. These utterances, Habermas maintains, implicitly make claims for validity that can be discussed and either accepted or rejected at the level of discourse. In addition to fulfilling the general claim to comprehensibility—a presupposition of any grammatical utterance—the successful utterance must satisfy three further “validity claims”: it must count as true for the participants in the sense of containing publicly falsifiable 42 For

a more detail account of Habermas’ “universal pragmatics” see McCarthy (1978, Chapter 4) and Held (1980, Chapter 12). For Habermas’ (1979a) fullest account see “What Is Universal Pragmatics,” pp.1–68.

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content; it must count as truthful insofar as it expresses something intended by the speaker; and it must count as right in terms of conforming to socially recognized expectations (1976b). These dialogue-constitutive “validity claims” what Habermas refers to as the cognitive or representative, the expressive and the interactive functions, in turn, reflect different “relations to reality”. They situate the utterance in relation to external reality, that is, the world of objects and events about which one can make true or false statements; inner reality, that is, the speaker’s subjective world of intentional experiences that can be expressed truthfully or untruthfully; and the normative reality of society, that is, “our” social world of shared values and norms. The complex of relationships involved can be best expressed in terms of Table 6.1. In normal, everyday contexts of communicative action, where a background consensus prevails, the four “validity claims” are taken for granted and the immanent obligations (see Table 6.1) remain unfulfilled. When this background consensus breaks down—i.e., when one (or more) of the validity claims is challenged—communicative action can continue only if the claim is discursively redeemed. Yet each claim requires a different mode of “redemption” to restore the consensus. “Comprehensibility” as a basic condition of all communication is either redeemed or not: “truth” and “rightness” require specific forms of discursive justification in theoretical and practical discourse, respectively; and “truthfulness” depends for its “redemption” on an assessment of actual behaviour. Discourse is that ideal form of communication in which participants subject themselves to no other compulsion than that of argumentation itself in which participants come together to assess the validity or invalidity of a problematic claim with the aim of reaching a rationally motivated consensus. McCarthy (1978) gives the following description of the role of discourse: When fundamental differences in beliefs and values block the initiation or continuation of communicative relations, the possibility of discursively resolving these differences takes on a particular significance. It represents the possibility of instituting or reinstituting a consensual basis for interaction without resort to force in any of its forms from open violence to latent manipulation: it represents the possibility of reaching agreement through the use of reason and thus by recourse to, rather than violation of, the humanity of those involved. (p. 291)

At this point Habermas’ theory of communicative competence coincides with his theory of cognitive interests for he seeks to show that there is a distinction between Table 6.1 Language use and validity claims Domain of reality

Mode of communication

Implied validity claim

Types of action

Speech act obligation

External world of nature

Cognitive

Truth

(E.g., assertions)

Grounds

Normative world of society

Interactive

Rightness, appropriateness

Regulatives (e.g., advice)

Justification

Inner world of subject

Expressive

Truthfulness, sincerity

(E. g., admission)

Confirmations

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the conditions of discourse and the redemption of claims on the one hand, and the conditions of the constitution of reality on the other. The a priori conditions of experience specified in Habermas’ theory of cognitive interests is radically separated from the priori conditions of argumentative reasoning specified in his theory of communicative competence. This distinction has importance for the relation between communicative action and discourse for while a claim is said to be founded in experience (in everyday interaction) it is grounded only in the process of argumentative reasoning (Habermas 1975). The grounding of claims, then, has nothing to do with the relation between individual sentences and reality. Clearly, Habermas rejects a correspondence or copy theory of truth in favour of the notion of coherence. Statements about objects of possible experience at the level of communicative action, when challenged in discourse, become sentences to be tested. Their claim to truth is to be suspended. But “truth” belongs categorically to the sphere of language and thought, and its testability pertains to the logic of theoretical discourse for: If we did not redeem these truth claims through argumentative reasoning, relying instead on verification through experience alone, then theoretical progress would have to be conceived as the production of new experience, and not as a reinterpretation of the same experience. It is therefore more plausible to assume that the objectivity of experience guarantees not the truth of a corresponding statement, but the identity of experience in the various statements interpreting that experience. (1975, p. 180)

Thus, the logic of theoretical discourse, of truth, is, at root, dialogical for the condition of the truth of statements is the potential agreement of all others. Habermas’ consensus theory of truth is a denial that truth claims can be settled by direct appeal to sensory experience and is, therefore, consonant with recent objections raised in the form of the theory-laden argument against foundationalist empiricism.43 The actual “logic of truth” that Habermas embraces is arrived at through an examination of the (universal) pragmatic conditions of possibility of achieving rational consensus through argumentation. He analyses the structure borrowed from Toulmin (1964). An argument can be characterized by the following elements: (i) the conclusion which is to be grounded; (ii) the data which is submitted as relevant (causes or grounds); (iii) the warrant which establishes the connection between the data and the conclusion (general laws, moral principle); (iv) the backing for the warrant (e.g., observation reports). Habermas’ central thesis regarding the structure of argument is that, as McCarthy (1978) elaborates44 : these conditions must permit a progressive radicalization of the argument; there must be freedom to move from a given level of discourse to increasingly reflected levels. More 43 For

a recent account of Habermas’ consensus theory reformulated within the analytic tradition of post-Kuhnian philosophy of science see Hesse (1978, pp. 98–115). For Habermas’ reply to criticisms raised by Hesse, see Habermas (1982, pp. 274–273). See also Pettit (1982). 44 I am dependent here on McCarthy’s (1978) interpretation of Habermas for the crucial paper “Wahrheitstheorien” has not been translated into English.

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particularly there must be the freedom not only to enter into critical discussion, to seek discursive justification of problematic claims, and to offer and evaluate various arguments and explanations but also to call into question and (if necessary) to modify an originally accepted conceptual framework (“meta-theoretical discourse”). (p. 305)

Habermas’ proposal, further, is dependent in a crucial way on an analysis of the “ideal speech situation” that is implicitly presupposed in discourse, and this analysis is central to Habermas’ efforts to provide moral-practical foundations for critical theory. As noted above, a crucial dimension of an “ideal speech situation” is that it must be structured in such a way that the participants in a discourse can move freely to increasingly reflected levels. This freedom from internal and external constraint can be given a universal-pragmatic characterization;there must be for all participants a symmetrical distribution of chances to select and employ speech acts, that is an effective equality of chances to assume dialogue roles”. Thus the idea of truth points ultimately to a form of interaction that is free from all distorting influences. The ‘good and true life’ that is the goal of critical theory is inherent in the notion of truth; it is anticipated in every act of speech. (McCarthy 1978, p. 308)

The upshot of this analysis is that while there are undeniable differences between the logics of theoretical and practical discourse they exhibit parallel structures such that practical questions can be rationally decided, and right norms are capable of being grounded, in ways similar to theoretical questions and true statements.45 The normative basis of the ideal speech situation”—presupposed and anticipated by each and every speech situation, by the very structure of speech—anticipates a form of life in which autonomy and responsibility are both necessary and possible. Habermas’ reworking of critical theory, therefore, is grounded in the normative basis inherent in the very structure of social action and language and these immanent standards are the basis of a critique of ideology. The assumption, of course, is that ideological belief systems, when subjected to the process of critical reflection and criticism in rational discourse, will be unmasked for what they are—forms of distorted communication promoted in the interest of domination. Before the exposition of Habermas’ theory of communication can be regarded as anything like a preliminary sketch or outline of Habermas’ systematic approach, some note must be taken of his recent work (1979a, b) which attempts to situate his theories within a wider evolutionary context. Habermas’ theory of social evolution, though still only programmatic, is important to consider here for two main reasons. First, it is important to consider for it serves as the main bridge between his general theory of communication and the methodology of social research that he advocates (McCarthy1978, p. 333); second, it is important to consider in this context because of its educational ramifications. In his theory of social evolution Habermas focuses on a theoretically central “evolutionary learning” mechanism, and attempts to use 45 For

a more detailed discussion of the logic of practical discourse see McCarthy (1978, pp. 311– 317); for a tabular presentation of the similarities between the structures of theoretical and practical discourse see Held (1980, p. 342).

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his universal pragmatic classification of validity claims (together with their corresponding regions of reality) as the matrix for unifying the developmental studies of Piaget, Furth, Kohlberg and others.46 The impetus for the development of a theory of social evolution is Habermas’ (1971a, 1979a, b) reappraisal of historical materialism. Two tendencies have occurred in contemporary forms of advanced capitalism, Habermas argues, which render Marx’s account—conceived exclusively in the form of a critique of political economy—strictly inapplicable. The first, mentioned earlier, is the transformation of, and increased interplay between science and technology as the leading productive force in advanced capitalism. This development is seen to render inapplicable both Marx’s labour theory of value as an explanation of the principal means of the creation of surplus value, and his distinction between base and superstructure. The second is increasing state interference which has been necessary in order to avert a series of increasingly severe “legitimation crises” brought about through the process of private accumulation and utilization of capital. The resulting re-politicization of the economy, in addition with the other developmental tendency, invalidates the possibility of drawing a meaningful distinction between base and superstructure. As we have seen, Habermas identifies labour and interaction as the two mutually irreducible means by which material and social reproduction occur. In the first instance, the forces of production, which determine the level of control over the processes of nature and society, are regulated by the rules of purposive-rational action governing the activity of labour. In the second instance, the relations of production, which determine access to the means of production and thereby the distribution of wealth and power, are sustained at the level of language and governed by the rules of communicative action. The relations of production have evolved and become formalized within an institutional context which reproduces a specific form of social integration. The stability of a mode of production is endangered when the development of the forces of production generates system problems which cannot be solved within the existing relations of production. The prevailing form of social integration must then be revolutionized in order to create the capacity for alternative solutions. To account for these evolutionary steps we must assume, Habermas argues, that there is an intrinsic and autonomous learning mechanism in the institutional sphere. The rules of communicative action do develop in reaction to changes in the domain of instrumental and strategic action; but in doing so they follow their own logic”. Drawing on the developmental psychology of Piaget and Kohlberg, Habermas characterizes this logic as a series of stages in the growth of consciousness in the individual as well as the species. (Thompson and Held 1982, p. 10)

Once again, Habermas’ work in the areas of ontogenesis and phylogenesis has only programmatic status, but his attempt to trace the developmental natures of theoretical and practical reason by wielding the results of cognitive developmental psychology (and Freud’s psychodynamic theory of personality) into a theoretically coherent structure along with sociological action theory, surely deserves serious consideration by educationalists—especially those interested in notions of social reproduction. 46 For

a more detailed account see McCarthy (1978, pp. 333–357) and Schmid (1982).

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Habermas, to date, has spent most of his efforts on the construal of ontogenesis as the development of a set of universal competences (i.e., linguistic, cognitive and interactive) that the individual acquires in the course of self-formation or ego development, although he holds that there are structural “homologies” between the self-formative development process and the evolution of specific forms of socially formative processes. In particular, Habermas has concentrated on the development of interactive competence, which is for him the basis of the development of moral consciousness towards autonomy and responsibility. Habermas (1979a)47 attempts to synthesize the problems of development grouped around the concept of ego identity as they have been treated by three different theoretical traditions: analytic ego psychology (H.S. Sullivan, Erikson); cognitive developmental psychology (Piaget, Kohlberg); and symbolic interactionist theory of action (Mead, Blumer, Goffman). He does so in terms of his theory of communicative competence in accordance with which he tentatively proposes four developmental stages: the symbiotic; the egocentric; the sociocentric-objectivistic and the universalistic (p. 100). The actual correlations that Habermas (1979a) postulates between speech and action competences on the one hand and stages of cognitive (especially the ability to make moral judgements),48 psychosexual and motivational development on the other, need not concern us here. What is important to acknowledge is the way in which Habermas’ (1979a) programme enables him to incorporate the normative content of basic critical concepts (such as “autonomy” and “responsibility”) into empirical theories and the way in which his proposed reconstruction of the content of these theories opens them up to indirect testing. Habermas’ (1979a) further move to link questions of ontogenesis to those of phylogenesis in a renewed historical materialism which focuses on the “same structures of consciousness” (p. 99) must be of interest to learning theorists and Marxists alike. Of importance here is Habermas’ (1979a) claim that: Whereas Marx localized the learning processes important for evolution in the dimension of thought—of technical and organizational knowledge, of instrumental and strategic action, in short, of productive forces—there are good reasons…for assuming that learning processes also take place in the dimension of moral insight, practical knowledge, communicative action, and the consensual regulation of action conflicts—learning processes that are deposited in more mature forms of social integration, in new productive relations, and that in turn first make possible the introduction of new productive forces. (pp. 97–98)

This leads Habermas (1979a) to maintain that the reproduction of society and the socialization of its members are two aspects of the same process; they are, in other words, dependent on the same structures of consciousness. Certain structural homologies can be found between the histories of the individual and the species. Habermas (1979a) attempts to make this claim plausible by noting, for instance, similarities between moral (individual) and legal (societal) representations; between 47 The two relevant essays are “Moral Development and Ego Identity,” pp.69–94, and “Historical Materialism and the Development of Normative Structures,” pp. 95–129. 48 Of particular note here is Habermas’ (1979) attempt to reformulate Kohlberg’s stages of moral consciousness within a general action-theoretic framework, see pp.73ff.

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sequences of basic concepts and logical structures in cognitive development and the evolution of world views; and between structures of ego identity and of group identity (pp. 98–116). All three complexes, he maintains, lead back to structures of linguistically established intersubjectivity. To be sure, Habermas (1979a) acknowledges both that his theory of communication is not yet developed enough to be able to adequately analyse these symbolic structures, and that the concept of a developmental logic requires extra analytic work: before we can say formally what it means to describe the direction of development in ontogenesis and in the history of the species by means of such concepts as universalization and individualization, decentration, autonomization, and becoming reflective. If I stick to this theme in spite of the (for the time being) unsatisfactory degree of explication, it is because I am convinced that normative structures do not simply follow the path of development of reproductive processes and do not simply respond to the pattern of system problems but that they have instead an internal history. (p. 117)49

Numerous criticisms have been raised against Habermas’ competencedevelopment approach, and, indeed, against various aspects of his now very large and wide-ranging corpus of writings.50 Many of these criticisms relate to Habermas’ increasingly strong theoretical tendency, which in emphasizing universalistic elements, has tended to over-shadow both the practical activity of social agents and the practical aspects of social inquiry. Criticisms have been also levelled at the “quasi-transcendental” status of the three primary interests Habermas identifies and the validity of the categories of knowledge built upon them (Bernstein 1976, pp. 220–221; Held 1980, pp. 390–393). In this regard the theoretical developments of post-empiricist philosophy of science (described in the preceding Chapter) have a major role to play. Given these developments it is important to inquire whether Habermas adequately captures the nature of the so-called empirical-analytic sciences. In particular, it seems that Habermas’ three-fold division of interests and associated inquiry-processes does not, at first sight at least, acknowledge the way in which the empirical-analytic sciences involve “interpretation” (and some would argue, also a practical knowledge/rationality) characteristic of the historical-hermeneutic sciences. Certainly, the emphasis Habermas places on the instrumentalist aspect of the empirical-analytic sciences goes a long way to describe its “success” in the control and prediction of nature but it obscures the central role of “interpretation” depicted by historically oriented philosophers of science in the constitution and analysis of scientific data in a way that appears damaging to Habermas’ programme. Is Habermas’

49 See

Wartofsky (1982) who has emphasized the strong commonalities between Piaget’s genetic epistemology and a Marxist theory of knowledge. Kitchener (1980) claims that Piaget is essentially a Hegelian (p. 389). For criticisms of the universalist orientation of the Piagetian research programme which also bear on Habermas see Buck-Morss (1975, 1987). For a review essay of Musgrove (1982) who uses Piaget and crosscultural research to make sweeping moral and political claims in education see Peters (1983). 50 See Thompson ans Held (1982) for a recent set of critical essays on Habermas’ work plus his replies to his critics.

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three-fold division of interests and inquiry-processes as logically exclusive or absolute as he wants to make out? If not, how is this new “admixture” to be characterized? The problem is exacerbated and brought more into alignment with the dispute between Gadamer and Habermas, when it is realized that the empirical-analytic sciences, comprising a series of mini-traditions constituting the grand tradition of science itself, lends itself to a hermeneutical interpretation. Further, questions have been raised against Habermas concerning the general applicability of the psychoanalytic model (Held 1980, pp. 394–395); and his reappraisal of Marx has been contested on a number of grounds (e.g., Heller 1982). It would be presumptuous of me to attempt to review these criticisms and others like them here, given the complexity of the issues raised and the manner in which the objections address both the depth and breadth of Habermas’ work. Indeed, the criticisms themselves and Habermas replies need to be treated, within a much more exhaustive exposition and appraisal of his work than I have been able to supply in this context. To be sure, Habermas’ increasingly theoretical tendency, exhibited in his intention to provide a grounded analysis of symbolically structured objects and events marks, something of a break with his earlier programme which had emphasized the historical and practical dimensions of social theory. Yet, as McCarthy (1982) observes, Habermas’ universalistic approach to social inquiry: does not rest on a rejection of the detranscendentalisation of philosophy since Kant. On the contrary, a central theme of Knowledge and Human Interests was precisely the progressive radicalisation of epistemology that led to the ‘idea of a theory of knowledge as social theory’ . He argued that the transformation in the course of the nineteenth century to a view of the subject of knowledge and action as inherently, social, historical, embodied and labouring relegated irretrievably to the past the idea of a presuppositionless ‘first philosophy’—whether in its ontological or epistemological guises. Philosophy had to surrender its claim to grasp the totality of being from an extramundane position and on the basis of principles discovered in the very structure of reason. The (re-)detranscendentalisation of twentieth-century philosophy has brought this point hone to us once again. (pp. 58–59)51

McCarthy (1982) further notes that once the universalism associated with the positivist emphasis on logic and mathematics (i.e., the movement of logicism) had come under attack from the combined perspectives of critical theory and hermeneutics,52 critical theory in the hands of Habermas, struggling to free itself from the relativist embrace of hermeneutics, reasserted a new universalism based on a conception of the knowing subject which had replaced the Cartesian ego. McCarthy (1982) argues that Habermas wants: to salvage by way of reconstruction Kant’ s claim that there are universal and unavoidable presuppositions of theoretical and practical reason… as the essence of rational personality. But he also wants, thinking now more with Hegel, to present a reconstructed conception of… the self-formative processes of the individual and the species that have rational autonomy as their telos—a kind of systematic history of reason. (p. 59) 51 McCarthy

(1982) refers to Rorty (1980) to substantiate this observation. is curious that McCarthy (1982) fails to mention the impact of post-empiricist philosophy of science in this context, which, arguably, had greater force in disassembling empiricism.

52 It

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Habermas’ account of an expanded rationality is, thus, not at odds with the conception of historical rationality—a constitutive and practical rationality—that I have both surveyed and argued for. In fact, his account endorses my argument. What is in dispute, however, is the separate realm Habermas demarcates for it— i.e., the historical-hermeneutic sciences—and the question of whether Habermas’ detranscendentalized conception of the knowing subject is ultimately compatible with the new universalism he puts forward in terms of his competence—development approach. Does such an approach simply resurrect the universalist-absolutist/ relativist-historicist controversy along new lines? Or does it provide both a promising philosophical and empirically viable way out of this ancient conundrum? McCarthy (1978) in his earlier appraisal of Habermas raises similar questions in now familiar terms. Do competence-development approaches really provide a way of ‘reaching behind’ the profound historicity of human thought and action? Or is this just the most recent ‘ objectivist illusion’ one that could be unmasked by exhibiting the context boundedness of basic categories and assumptions? The shadow of the hermeneutic circle (in its Gadamerian, neo-Wittgensteinian, Kuhnian forms) has by no means been finally dispelled. (p. 353)

These questions and the issues they raise for empirical research require a great deal more philosophical discussion and analysis than can be afforded here. The questions themselves need much more careful formulation. Unhappily, there is little scope for pursuing these activities here yet the posing of the questions not only helps to define crucially important areas of future research in philosophy, social theory and education, they also demonstrate the complex relations between a variety of disciplines and between theory and practice, necessary for understanding and empirical progress in the realm of education. At this stage I shall attempt to emphasize some major themes and to draw out some educational implications both from the general line of argument I have adopted, and from my discussion of modern hermeneutics. Further I shall link these concerns and implications to some current developments in philosophy and social theory in order to show how matters of interpretation are central to both, and via a hermeneutically informed” (Giddens 1982) philosophy and social theory how they are also central to the study of education. The Gadamer-Habermas debate in the educational context can be put most sharply in terms of two opposing quotations which serve to indicate their basic orientations, and their fundamental disagreement. Gadamer (1975a), for instance, makes the following remark which might easily be construed in certain respects, as a condensed statement from R. S. Peters: That which has been sanctioned by tradition and custom has an authority that is nameless, and our finite historical being is marked by the fact that always the authority of what has been transmitted…has power over our attitudes and behaviour. All education depends on this, and even though, in the case of education, the educator loses his function when his charge comes of age and sets his own insight and decisions in the place of the authority of the educator, this movement into maturity in his own life does not mean that a person becomes his own master in the sense that he becomes free of all tradition. The validity of morals, for example, is based on tradition… (p. 249)

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In reflecting on Gadamer’s statement it must not be forgotten however, that he is advocating a change in the present scientistic orientation. This point becomes obvious, for instance, in his discussion of Vico (1975a, p. 21ff) where he maintains that “training” in the sensus communis “which is not nourished on the true but on the probable” is still the most important thing in education. Along with Vico, then, Gadamer (1975a) maintains that education cannot “tread the path of critical research” for the young demand “images for its imagination and for the forming of its memory. But the study of the sciences in the spirit of modern criticism does not achieve this. Thus Vico supplements the critica of Cartesianism with the old topica. This is the art of finding arguments and serves to develop the sense of what is convincing, which works instinctively and ex-tempore, and for this reason cannot be replaced by science. (p. 21)

Habermas’ (1971b) statement which, although not specifically treating the problem of educating the young, serves the educational possibilities based on a reflective appropriation of tradition in research. The attempt at a long-term research and education policy oriented to immanent possibilities and objective consequences… must enlighten those who take political action about their tradition-bound self understanding of their interests and goals in relation to socially potential knowledge and capacity. At the same time it must put them in a position to judge practically, in the light of these articulated and new interpreted needs, in what direction they want to develop their knowledge and capacity in the future. (p. 74)

The contrasting philosophical attitudes and approaches of transposed to the level of education and reflect their basic disagreement as to the nature of tradition, its operation in history and our capacity to become aware of its influence. There appears a set of irreconcilable differences. Yet both—admittedly in contrasting fashion—focus on the notions of the dialectic and dialogue in their interpretations, and those notions provide a way of representing not only the differences but also the constructive relations between them. While Gadamer argues on ontological grounds for “the dialogue that we are”, Habermas argues on epistemological grounds for the possibility of transcending “the dialogue that we are”. Can the profound historicity of linguistic tradition, upon which the specific intellectual be reconstructed in rational terms? Is there any possible theoretical reconciliation between the ontological-existential hermeneutics of Gadamer and the critical-reconstructionist hermeneutics of Habermas? It would certainly seem that the two were irreconcilably at odds, yet a dialogical theory of the conflict of interpretations presents the possibility of regarding them as equally justified in terms of contrasting interests, operating on different strategic levels and determined by the structure of their object given in symbolic form.53 Where the ontological-existential hermeneutics of Gadamer is given an orientation to the past in its attempt to understand the mediation of tradition and determine its significance for the present, the critical-reconstructionist hermeneutics of Habermas is future oriented and directed at changing reality. Both elements and approaches are required for a genuine theory of dialogue, and tradition. 53 This

discussion is indebted to Bleicher’s (1980) discussion of Ricoeur (pp. 217–259).

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It is also the case that just as ontological-existential hermeneutics in its appropriation of the “world” of a text necessarily incorporates an element of critique, so too does critical-reconstructionist hermeneutics exhibit evidence of its own hermeneutic and historical situatedness. Indeed, critical hermeneutics calls on a specific intellectual tradition—the tradition of critique due to the Enlightenment—for a re-affirmation of the interest in emancipation and the anticipation of liberation. A historicist theory of knowledge, emphasizing that theory evaluation must take account of the genesis of a theory, research programme, or tradition, is finally driven back upon its own intellectual resources to understand its present problems and orientation. The notion of dialogue stands centrally in the hermeneutic tradition and serves essentially to distinguish the hermeneutic approach—whether it follows the critical path or not—from the ahistorical and absolute character of philosophy-asepistemology. It is noteworthy and relevant here to recognize Rorty’s (1980) use of “hermeneutics” as the final stage of an argument which sets out both to critique foundationalist epistemology and to indicate, given the demise of traditional epistemology, the future cultural directions philosophy might follow, for his work moves the discussion of hermeneutics firmly centre stage in Anglo-American philosophy, and, following Gadamer (1975a) substitutes the notion of education or self-formation (“edification”) for that of “knowledge” as the goal of thinking (see Chapter 7, pp. 357–394). Rorty’s Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1980) has received considerable attention at the hands of reviewers (e.g., see Bernstein 1980) and some discussion in the literature under titles such as “Holism and Hermeneutics” (Dreyfus 1980) and “Is the End in Sight for Epistemology?” (Hacking 1980), but as yet no one has examined the positive content of Rorty’s conception of education, or its hermeneutical underpinnings in a model of conversation (dialogue). His notion of “edification” borne out of his attempt to locate modern analytic philosophy in a historical context and to show that the Cartesian-Kantian problematic—a deliberately worked outcome of both a powerful set of arguments and a rich interpretation of a recent episode of European culture—should be of interest not only to analytic philosophers of education but to educationalists generally for Rorty’s (1980) self-styled task is nothing less than the attempt to deconstruct or transcend a picture that has held generations of philosophers captive (see also Rorty 1982). It is, however, important to realize that for Rorty (1980) hermeneutics is not a successor subject to epistemology—“an activity which fills the cultural vacancy once filled by epistemologically centered philosophy”: ‘hermeneutics’ is not the name for a discipline, nor for a method of achieving the sort of results which epistemology failed to achieve, nor for a program of research. On the contrary, hermeneutics is an expression of hope that the cultural space left by the demise of epistemology will not be filled—that our culture should become one in which the demand for constraint and confrontation is no longer felt. (p. 315)

Interestingly, Rorty (1980) begins his critique and interpretation with a quotation from Wittgenstein’s Vermischte Bernerkungen which likens progress in philosophy to the finding of a remedy for itching. A physician-like Rorty, guided by this

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therapeutic Wittgensteinian metaphor, however, diagnoses something more than a mere skin complaint on the body of post-Kantian culture. The modern analytic philosopher’ “scratchings” are themselves symptoms of a deeper (more pathological) disease—one which can only be cured by changing the fundamentally entrenched conception of ourselves as knowers-of-essences; a conception which finds its most immediate expression in the mirror imagery surrounding neo-Kantian, epistemologically centred philosophy. (Modern analytic philosophy, Rorty maintains, is one more variant of Kantian philosophy which is distinguished from its parent predecessor principally by thinking of representation in linguistic terms and of philosophy of language as exhibiting the “foundations of knowledge”). It is not surprising, then, in his final section that Rorty (1980) should align himself with Gadamer’s (1975a) project, and specifically with: “Gadamer’s effort to get rid of the classic picture of nan-as-essentially-knower-of-essences… an effort to get rid of the distinction between fact and value, and thus to let us think of ‘discovering the facts’ as one project of edification among others” (p. 364). Significantly, Rorty (1980) believes that there is no way to argue whether to keep the Kantian “grid” in place or to set it aside54 , for there is, he argues: “no ‘normal’ philosophical discourse which provides common commensurating around for those who see science and edification as, respectively, ‘rational’ and ‘irrational’, and those who see the quest for objectivity as one possibility among others…” (p. 354). His attempt to explain rationality and epistemic authority by reference to what society lets us say, rather than vice versa—the essence of Rorty’s “epistemological behaviourism—is fully consistent with a historicist conception of the importance of tradition and dialogue. Evidence, for instance, his self-confessed “banal” remark that education—”even the education of the revolutionary or the prophet”—must begin with acculturation and conformity with, in other words, training in the results of “normal discourse” (p. 365). His central claim for education more strongly supports the historicist thesis. “From the educational, as opposed to the epistemological or the technical, point of view, the way things are said is more important than the possession of truths” (p. 359). I do not want to examine Rorty’s (1980) central claim for education here, nor, more generally, his position, but Ido want to acknowledge the way in which Rorty believes that once we have given up the picture of knowing as having an essence, and, alternatively, learn to regard knowing “as a right, by current standards to believe, then we are well on the way to seeing conversation as the ultimate context within which knowledge is to be understood” (p. 389). The force of Rorty’s argument, and his adoption of the model of conversation or dialogue as the ultimate context for knowledge55 , while converging with Gadamerian hermeneutics, sadly neglects any detailed consideration of the Gadamer-Habermas

54 Witness his introductory comment: “It is pictures rather than propositions, metaphors rather than statements, which determine most of our philosophical convictions” (p.12). 55 The adoption of the model was inspired by Michael Oakeshott’s (1975) “The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind”.

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debate over the role and status of tradition, and Habermas’ own attempt at rational reconstruction. Does the “subordination of truth to edification”, based explicitly on a model of conversation, preclude universal-competence approaches? While Rorty (1980) makes passing reference to Habermas’ project (pp. 381–382), it is by no means adequate to assess an answer to this question—a question which remains, perhaps the most fundamental question facing not only hermeneutics, and arguably current philosophy but also education. I do not have the scope or resources to attempt an answer to this question as I have previously indicated, although I see no good reasons for answering such a question in the negative strictly on a priori grounds. Surely the answer will be determined, at least in part, on the empirical (as well as theoretical) successes of the universalcompetence approach? If this is so, then philosophical grounds alone will not settle the issue and the evaluation and testing required for such a project will be a complex and long-term undertaking. Rorty’s approach in philosophy would seem to demonstrate considerable sympathy with a Wittgensteinian-inspired research programme in education. Not only does he strongly advocate and argue for a historicist approach to knowledge and a historicist notion of rationality, but he also in part, bases his case explicitly on an appeal to the later Wittgenstein. In social theory as in philosophy of science (Hesse 1980), the impact of hermeneutics and specifically the convergence of interests occurring between hermeneutics and post-Wittgensteinian philosophy has been noted in the English-speaking world. Both Richard Bernstein and Anthony Giddens—perhaps the major social theorists in USA. and Britain, respectively—offer a reconstruction or are a formulation of social theory which attempts to avoid the pitfalls of positivism, while drawing widely on developments in social theory outside mainstream Anglo-American traditions. Bernstein (1976) and Giddens (1979, 1982) offer a reformulated social theory which is equally empirical, interpretive and critical. Both have noted and endorsed the coincidence between the concerns of Anglo-American analytic philosophy and Continental phenomenology over the conception of human action—its understanding and explanation. The understanding of human action is held to require reference to the meaning that such action has for the agents, and “meaning” is construed as constitutive of human action. Furthermore, language and action are held to be grounded in intersubjective practices and forms of life. Both Bernstein and Giddens acknowledge, directly and indirectly, an intellectual debt to the later Wittgenstein that encourages the prospect of setting up a Wittgenstein-research programme in education. Both appear to admit some notion of the dialectic and emphasize the historical nature of rationality such that high-level statements (i.e., laws) in social theory are held to be historical in character. Let us look a little more closely at Giddens (1982) proposal. He advocates what he terms a “hermeneutically informed social theory”56 which integrates hermeneutics 56 For Giddens (1982 “social theory” refers to “a body of theory shared in common by all the disciplines concerned with the behaviour of human beings” (p. 5).

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into a broader framework of social theory that “acknowledges the basic importance of the analysis of long-term institutional change, power and conflict—matters which have rarely been confronted within the hermeneutic tradition” (p. vii). Of course, Giddens (1982) does not believe that the “hermeneutical turn” in social theory will, of itself, resolve the logical and methodological problems left by the disappearance of the “orthodox consensus”, bat, along with his own theoretical additions, he holds that it does point the way towards a post-positivist reformulation of social theory. This is neither the time nor place to enter a detailed exposition and appraisal of Gidden’s reformulation but I want to mention briefly two major theoretical contributions he makes towards the new social theory for they demonstrate an affinity both with the problems faced in education (e.g., the structure-agency debate), and with the sort of approach I have been advocating. His theory of structuration (see Giddens 1979) is an attempt to satisfy the demand for a theory of the subject which avoids the objectivism inherent in either dissolving the subject into abstract structures of language (as does structuralism) or of viewing human agency purely as the determined outcome of social causes (as does functionalism), without relapsing into subjectivity. In other words, a theory of the subject must recover the subject as “a reasoning, acting being”, capable of meaningfully constructing his/her world in conjunction with others. In Giddens’ (1982) theory of structuration: “neither subject (human agent) nor object (society or social institutions) should be regarded as having primacy. Each is constituted in and through recurrent practices. The notion of human ‘action’ presupposes that of ‘institution’, and vice versa” (p. 8). His theory of structuration, thereby is an attempt to do away with the notion of “function” as it enters analysis and explanation, while preserving the functionalist emphasis on the unanticipated conditions and unintended consequences of human action. Giddens’ notion of the “double hermeneutic” serves to emphasize a major difference between the natural and social sciences in terms of the conceptualization of subject matter. He maintains that concepts in social theory obey the double hermeneutic, and he explains it as follows: (1) Any generalized theoretical scheme in the natural or the social sciences is in a certain sense a form of life in itself, the concepts of which have to be mastered as a mode of practical activity generating specific types of descriptions. That this is already a hermeneutic task is clearly demonstrated in the ‘ newer philosophy of science’ of Kuhn and others. (2) Sociology [also read ‘social theory’], however deals with a universe which is already constituted within frames of meaning by social actors themselves and reinterprets these within its own theoretical schemes, mediating ordinary and technical language. This double hermeneutic is of considerable complexity since the connection is not merely a one-way one (as Schutz seems to suggest); there is a continual ‘slippage’ of the concepts constructed in sociology, whereby these are appropriated by those whose conduct they were originally coined to analyse, and hence tend to become integral features of that conduct. (1976, p. 162).

Following Gadamer, Giddens (1982) declares that the double hermeneutic entails that these relations are dialogical. The fact that the ‘findings’ of the social sciences can be taken up by those to whose behaviour they refer is not a phenomenon that can, or should, be marginalised, but is integral to their very

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nature. It is the hinge connecting two possible modes in which the social sciences connect to their involvement in society itself: as contributing to forms of exploitative domination, or as promoting emancipation. (p. 14)

Clearly, there is considerable scope within a Wittgensteinian-inspired research programme in education to pursue fundamental philosophical questions underlying the “new” social theory by further examination of its framework concepts, such as “action” and “meaning”. Within such a programme, philosophers of education have the dialogical role of further mapping out the historical and conceptual similarities of a convergence of approaches involving the confluence of aspects of analytic philosophy, hermeneutics, critical and social theory, specifically as the issues and problems generated bear on educational considerations. There is no doubt that this will require both a systematic attempt to deal with methodological problems that have arisen through the adoption of an ahistorical concept of rationality and method in philosophy of education. No longer will analytic philosophers of education be able to hide behind an epistemological screen of neutrality. They will have to accept the historical lesson that their ideas, arguments and method are not value- nor theory-free, but rather reflect a series of commitments that are as much a product of the tradition they stand in, as of the socio-historical conditions of the age to which they belong.

(e) Education, Hermeneutics and the Model of Dialogue The excursions into the realms of philosophy of science, hermeneutics and social theory have served a number of purposes that need a brief re-statement here so as to recapitulate on what has gone before. First and foremost it has given added plausibility to the possibility of a Wittgensteinian-inspired research programme in philosophy of education by linking some current developments in Anglo-American analytic philosophy to those in Continental phenomenology through a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein. In so doing, it has focused on the project of sketching lines of complementarity between aspects of Wittgenstein’s later thought and that of (the early) Marx.57 This thesis of complementarity is bolstered further by certain guiding similarities between the two thinkers in terms of their conception of philosophy and by the discussion of Habermas’ work which unites the “linguistic” preoccupation of modern analytic philosophy with a reappraisal of historical materialism. The project has emphasized and sought to develop lines of similarity between the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein and the historicist turn taken by the Wittgensteinians Kuhn, Toulmin and Feyerabend in philosophy of science, which evidences a tendency to move to larger and larger units of analysis and appraisal—from individual hypothesis to paradigms and research traditions. Finally, it has attempted to 57 See Rubinstein (1981) who reinforces some of the points made in Chapter III, and, in addition proposes that Marx and Wittgenstein share a similar “dialectical logic”. This proposal is based mainly on Wittgenstein’s rejection of the distinction between internal and external relations.

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show the lines of convergence between aspects of the later Wittgenstein’s thought and that of hermeneutic philosophy, particularly as represented in the work of Gadamer. This project, further, has suggested both historical and philosophical interrelations between all three lines of investigation—interrelations which can be traced to a common concern to combat the ahistorical and absolutist notion of rationality that vitiates the tradition of philosophy-as-epistemology in its attempt to set up, on the basis of a presuppositionless, “first”, philosophy, foundations of knowledge: Such a concern is recognized more deeply in the later Wittgenstein’s approach to foundationalist epistemology, which, as I have argued, bears a striking resemblance to Hegel’s enterprise in providing an “immanent” critique of Kant. Although such a project amounts to nothing more than a programmatic sketch— given its scope the development of it here could not be otherwise—it is intended to provide the basis of a research programme in education which admits a historical notion of rationality in a way that integrates philosophical, normative and empirical elements. I make no pretense, of course, to having solved all the important problems attendant upon entertaining such a project. Yet I believe that the possibilities inherent in such an undertaking provide the correct directions for a resolution of the structureagency debate that surfaces in a number of related disciplines and fields in philosophy and social theory, besides education. My comments here should be read both bearing in mind the criticisms I have raised against the ahistorical method employed by philosophers of education, and, in conjunction with the possibilities for a Wittgensteinian-inspired reform of the method of conceptual analysis given towards the end of Chapter 2. There is a great deal more work to be done here, not only at the level of philosophical argument which, proceeding from a Hegelian interpretation of the later Wittgenstein, must attempt to develop and further refine a historicist theory of rationality and knowledge, but also at the philosophical-historical level of mapping out and examining conceptual similarities among a series of converging intellectual traditions in true dialogical fashion. Simultaneously, much effort is required by philosophers of education to investigate, examine and develop the implications of this broad framework for matters that are specifically educational. This, of course, means that educational philosophers will not be able simply to reserve their contributions for pronouncing on methodological issues of social theory as they affect educational research; they must, by virtue of their new role, become embroiled in substantive issues and debates and carry their skills more directly into the realm of public forum and policy decision-making. Philosophers of education, therefore, need to become much more aware of both of the political functions that education has served in the past—its present and future political functions—as well as of the political functions that their own theories and arguments serve. This is not to minimize the contributions that educational philosophers have to make with regard to the consistency, and internal validity of various conceptions of educational research and practice. Indeed, it is clear that there is, as was evidenced in the preceding section, a great deal of conceptual overlap between post-Wittgensteinian philosophy and a reformulated social theory.

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A Wittgensteinian-inspired research programme in philosophy of education would have much to offer a similarly oriented social theory in the realm of education. As I attempted to indicate in the previous chapter (section g) there already exists a substantial body of social theory in education which is acknowledged under the rubric of “intention based” research. There is a range of critical questions in educational and social science research involving approaches to social action and consciousness which are shared among philosophers and other researchers in education—not only questions to do with the selectivity of data, the reliability of findings, and the judgement of the researcher in, say, historical and field research case study, but also questions that go beyond the range of methodological issues to unpack, criticize and construct a new, philosophical assumptions underlying conceptions of social action, social reality and social consciousness. Second, these excursions have attempted to demonstrate that the problems and issues in educational theory and practice cannot be treated in their accustomed isolation within the various sub-disciplines that make up the study of education. I have tried to show that not only must these problems and issues be treated within the wider (and integrated) context of intellectual endeavour which involves in familiarity with a number of quite separate specialist literatures, but also that education as a set of interrelated theoretical and institutional practices actually serves as the nexus or site for the discussion and possible resolution of many contemporary problems in philosophy and social theory. This point, which is implicit in much of what I have argued, deserves greater attention and explicit recognition. Peters’ (1966) conception of education as the process of the initiation into public, intersubjectively established, traditions, when divorced from its associated ahistorical conception of philosophical method and its politically conservative application, has an inescapable and fundamental role to play in providing both the vehicle and context of discussion. The rehabilitated “descriptive” use of Peters’ (1966) conception, in itself, makes no judgements about the form-content of such traditions or about the actual processes of initiation (these are surely historically rooted and variable phenomena’)—although, at the same time, it is easy enough to see how; such a conception might be used to sustain competing ideologies, depending on one’s stance towards particular traditions—intellectual and social—and the processes used in initiation. Such a conception has application not only in the study of schooling, but also in the realm of those intellectual traditions which at the level of higher education, guide and define our research problems and our approaches to them. In this regard, I am suggesting that the genesis of a theory, or ideology—an indispensable factor in its evaluation—is to be found most immediately in those intellectual traditions which have their productive sites in institutions of higher learning. Such a conception is also given a wider appreciation in the debate between Gadamer and Habermas which reflects important, current disagreements both in philosophy more widely, and, more locally, in philosophy of education. I shall have more to say about these aspects below. Third, these excursions have permitted me to play out various rationality themes involving ahistorical and historical notions in a way that is self-reflexively

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consistent with my own commitments voiced earlier, especially the intention to study a particular philosophical tradition from the “inside” so to speak. It should be noted that I recognize the interpretation of a philosophical tradition, or the retelling of a historical story,58 is a notoriously difficult affair, and one in itself, which raises a series of “muddy” questions in philosophical historiographical issues over the relative status of historical versus philosophical understanding and analysis.59 Nevertheless, it is clear that, even although there is by no means agreement over these issues, the history of a philosophical tradition can, has been, and will continue to be, a powerful source of philosophical understanding and knowledge. Smith (1969) elaborates, commenting on the advantages and complexity of such a study. One of the important philosophical advantages stemming from study of the historical development of philosophical movements and traditions is the insight that comes from observing the logical outworking of a set of ideas over a period of time that far exceeds the lifetime of any individual thinker. An Aristotle or a Hegel may develop a philosophical mode of thought in an almost unbelievably comprehensive way, but no individual can grasp all the implications and ramifications of his philosophical vision, no matter how monumental his powers may be. Many individuals, however, working over many years within the same framework of ideas can accomplish what no one of them alone could achieve… We can view the history of a tradition like Platonism, for example, or Aucrustinianism, as a vast experiment made by many thinkers with a set of ideas in which each thinker, building on what has gone before, seeks to develop further the basic premises of the position, proposing new logical alternatives, correcting errors, meeting objections, discovering further implications, and consolidating the results. In the case of a profound tradition, nothing less than this extended historical dialectic of ideas suffices to make plain what the basic position implies. (p. 604)

It is my hope that in what has gone before I have been able to cast some light on the nature and practice of analytic philosophy of education by attempting to understand its intellectual links with a view of philosophy that has dominated for quite some time. Fourth, a “hermeneutically informed” philosophy of education offers the possibility of a reformulation of the analytic approach in a way which captures its strengths while jettisoning its weaknesses, and accentuates an essential integrative and dialogical role of the philosopher of education, In order to fulfil this latter role analytic philosophy of education must, of course, become less insular and partisan. It must remain open to developments in the various branches of Anglo-American philosophy—and especially to those in philosophy of science, an area traditionally ignored by British analytic philosophers of education—as well as those in hermeneutics, critical and social theory more generally. At the level of philosophy of education, for instance, the hermeneutic approach provides an instructive framework for recasting in a meaningful fashion much work that has already taken place. In particular, it allows an interpretation which does not fall prey to the pitfalls of a position that attempts to raise itself to an unequalled 58 See 59 For

Macintyre’s (1977) notions of “epistemological crises” and “dramatic narrative”. example, see Passmore (1965), Ree et al. (1978), and Bubner (1981).

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primacy and authority, negating and jettisoning all that has gone before—i.e., arguing for a complete historical break in terms of the elevation of one paradigm. In other words, it allows for and builds upon a sense of historical continuity which explicitly recognizes past research gains. In substantiation of this point it is possible to sketch an interpretation of the HirstO’ Connor debate in Habermasian terms. Both Hirst and Peters according to this interpretation, can be seen to be defending a conception of practical rationality—of education as necessarily involving practical reason—against the scientistic claims of O’Connor on behalf of an exclusive interest in theoretical reason. Furthermore, Peters’(1966) conception of the development of individual consciousness as the product of the educational initiation into public traditions enshrined in the language, concepts, beliefs, and rules of a society—a conception which emphasizes the social determinants of individual consciousness—when considered as a reaction against and corrective to the individualist conception of the mind as tabula rasa inherent in the Western empiricist tradition lends itself to a hermeneutic (Gadamerian) interpretation (pp. 46-62). There is no essential difference in Peters’ conception of the process of education as the process of initiation into public modes of thought and awareness from that of Gadamer’s in this respect. Similarities might be drawn between Peters’ (1966) and Gadamer’s (1975a) emphasis on the linguisticity of tradition on their common rejection of a purely instrumental account of language, and on their common acceptance of the intersubjective character of public traditions. Peters (1966) even makes explicit reference to a notion of dialogue, although he does not consciously adopt it as a guiding model60 . Other aspects of Peters’ and Hirst’s approach provide the possibility of a Habermasian interpretation. I am thinking here specifically of Peters’ (1966) notion of “practical discourse” and the way he attempts to probe the public presuppositions underlying it. The presuppositions of “equality”, freedom” and “respects for persons”, along with the considerations of “worth-while activities” and “interests” are not too far removed from Habermas’ enterprise of establishing a theory of communicative competence involving “autonomy” and “responsibility”. While, curiously, the practical and political consequences to be drawn from these distinct but similarly linguistically oriented enterprises are in opposition, the actual conceptions of the structure of practical discourse and the arguments used to establish them show many fruitful parallels that have yet to be explored in any detail. These parallels are, perhaps, to be expected given Habermas’ use of work in analytic philosophy of language. It might be added that while Peters and Hirst represent an analytic equivalent of a common hermeneutic rejection of positivism as the paradigm of rationality (evidenced by O’Connor’s works in philosophy of education), the Australian Marxists (Harris and Matthews) represent the critical counterpart to Habermas in the debate 60 Witness

Peters’ (1966) comments “The ability to reason in a philosophical sense of thinking critically about one’s beliefs develops only if a man keeps critical company so that a critic is incorporated in his own consciousness. The dialogue within is inseparable from the dialogue without” (p. 57). See also his comments on the notion of conversation (ibid., p. 88).

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with Gadamer, particularly in respect of establishing relations between “objective”, material and historically rooted structures and various philosophical and sociological views. This parallel might be thought to be strained and over-simplistic, and it is true that there are crucially important differences between the Althusserian and Habermasian approaches that I am glossing, yet certainly it is equally true that both attempt to relate philosophical issues in the more concrete historical realm involving notions of social interests, ideology and power, and both deal with the same problems in their historical materialist critiques of contemporary capitalism. What this indicates is the possible reformulation of the contemporary history of philosophy of education in terms of hermeneutics, and in particular, in terms of the Gadamer-Habermas debate which focuses on the central role of tradition. Such an interpretation enables a re-focusing of the philosophical issues that divide O’ Connor from Hirst, and Hirst and Peters from the Althusserian Marxists in a way that provides fruitful and instructive directions for future research, while preserving a historical continuity that does not altogether sacrifice earlier gains. Education as hermeneutics, then, provides an integrative structure for viewing and reviewing sets of opposing claims regarding the status of educational theory. There is also the possibility of a hermeneutical interpretation of Hirst’s “forms of knowledge”. By substituting the notion of “intellectual traditions” for “forms”, the historical evolution of these traditions, and their roots in specific socio-cultural conditions, is given explicit recognition. Perhaps, in the cases of science, history, mathematics, art, literature and philosophy—to choose from Hirst’s own list—we may profitably talk of grand intellectual traditions, and entertain this idea as the basis of an outline of a historicist theory of knowledge. Yet it is not clear that these grand intellectual traditions provide the most appropriate categorization for there are meta-traditions which span developments over a range of disciplines, such as Romanticism, Marxism or Platonism; and within these meta-traditions there are various research traditions that point in different directions. Certainly, there is work to do in providing an adequate conceptualization for the various types and levels of intellectual traditions, and their relation to linguistic tradition more generally, and to the various traditions of institutionalized practices. Perhaps it will be more instructive to view such intellectual traditions in terms of whether they are “closed” or “open” to outside and competing influences, or permitting of internal development and logical extension. The notion of tradition I am canvassing, however is not one that is inimical to reason, change or modernity: it is one, in fact, which provides a basis for understanding the notions it is often mistakenly contrasted with. We might then turn our attention to the ways in which various intellectual traditions are maintained and the manner in which they are transmitted in education. We might also view “tradition” more widely as a “cultural product” of a community persisting through time in an evolving set of beliefs, customs and practices, and inquire as to why particular systems of education promote some sets of practices and beliefs at the expense of others. We might further be prepared to argue which traditions of practice and belief are more conducive to a genuine cultural self-understanding.

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There are clear, understandable and accepted applications of the general notion of tradition in more narrow contexts. We have already seen how theologians employ the term. Further, anthropologists talk of … cultural traditions ; political scientists speak of various “political” traditions; in art and literature, scholars recognize the classical and romantic traditions among others, and so on. In fact, among the academic community it has become customary to speak of those in one’s own discipline who follow an established line of inquiry as following in or belonging to a particular tradition. The notion of tradition not only has an obvious and accepted usage in an intellectual context, in charting the various historical currents both in and across disciplines, it also, I believe, provides the basis of a historicist theory of rationality and knowledge. Finally, and, perhaps most crucially, a hermeneutically informed approach in philosophy of education singles out the notion of dialogue as the central model and guiding motif for educational theory and practice in a way which preserves a historical train of thought in philosophy of education dating back to Socrates, Plato and beyond. Not only does the notion of dialogue have a venerable and ancient tradition of its own, it also has, as we have seen, contemporary adherents among philosophers of widely differing backgrounds. To Gadamer, Rorty and Habermas, one can add the names of Martin Buber and Paulo Freire, both of whom have worked out their own conceptions of dialogue within an educational context.61 Neither has the notion of dialogue and its educational applications gone entirely unnoticed in analytic philosophy of education,62 but much work has yet to be done in sorting out the different levels, forms and applications of a general model of dialogue in educational philosophy research and practice. There are a great many exciting possibilities to be explored here. Not only does the notion of dialogue provide a locus for many contemporary concerns not only in educational philosophy, but in philosophy and social theory more generally, but it also prevents a narrow sectarian focus in a way that preserves the “linguistic”, approach to questions of knowledge and morality familiar to analytic philosophy of education which yet does not sacrifice the political and practical issues that we face. It is not entirely surprising that we should, as educators, and as philosophers, come back to the notion of dialogue to view it freshly in terms of our twentieth century developed “linguistic” perspective, or to add, in an apparent “progress”, political 61 For an introduction to Buber’s philosophy see Buber (1970), Pfnetze (1954), and Friedman (1955).

Freire explicitly recognizes his intellectual debt to Buber, among others; see Freire (1972). For further works by Freire, and for an introduction to his philosophy see the bibliography and set of critical essays in Mackie (1980). 62 In this regard see Vandenberg’s (1975) hermeneutical interpretation of “fundamental educational theory”, and especially his hermeneutic re-interpretation of Hirst’s model. See Scudder’s (1971) attempt to provide a Buber model for education which contra Scheffler’s rule-initiation model, sketches one that takes as its central theme initiation through dialogue.

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and social dimensions to an ancient educational concept and model which originally possessed such dimensions—the influence of Greek thought is so deeply ingrained in Western intellectual traditions. As T. S. Eliot has expressed it: We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time

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Chapter 7

An End-Paper: Beyond “The Education of Reason”—Dewey, Wittgenstein and Foucault

in every era the attempt must be made anew to wrest tradition away from a conformism that is about to overpower it. —Walter Benjamin, (1940, IV) ‘On the Concept of History’, trans 2005, Dennis Redmond, https://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/benjamin/1940/history.htm [also known as ‘Theses on the Philosophy of History’]

(a) An Historicist Approach to Philosophy of Education In the essay “The Concept of History” Walter Benjamin (1940) momentarily focuses on “the conformism which has dwelt within social democracy from the very beginning”1 —social democracy and liberalism from whence it derives. It has application to the history of rationality and to the history of liberalism. From a liberal perspective, human beings are seen to be rational creatures who make choices and act on the basis of reasons. Indeed, this is a basis for liberal accounts of ethics that emphasize the importance of rationality in education. It is a view that has been massively overplayed at the expense of human beings as irrational creatures. Some might argue that liberal philosophers have been seduced by their own liberal stories about the discovery of Reason and its central place in human life since the Enlightenment. In terms of science as an activity, as Thomas Nickles (2020) argues: Many scientists, philosophers, and laypersons have regarded science as the one human enterprise that successfully escapes the contingencies of history to establish eternal truths about the universe, via a special, rational method of inquiry. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2020/entries/rationality-historicist/

As he states succinctly: Historicists oppose this view. In the 1960s several historically informed philosophers of science challenged the then-dominant accounts of scientific method advanced by the Popperians and the positivists (the logical positivists and logical empiricists) for failing to fit historical scientific practice and failing particularly to account for deep scientific change. 1 See

https://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/benjamin/1940/history.htm.

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Nickles (2020) proceeds to talk about the “new historicists”, “Thomas Kuhn, N. R. Hanson, Mary Hesse, Imre Lakatos, Paul Feyerabend, Stephen Toulmin, Dudley Shapere, Larry Laudan, Ernan McMullin, and Michael Ruse” who “claimed that the then-dominant positivist and Popperian accounts of science were themselves bunk— myths about how science is done”. Reviewing relations of rationality and history he asks a number of questions, among them: 1. What is it to be rational, anyway, once we situate agents in real-life socio-cultural situations? 2. Is an account of rationality something discovered rather than humanly constructed? 3. Is a theory of rationality something that can be fixed a priori, or can it (must it?) be naturalized, in whole or in part, i.e., shaped by a broadly empirical mode of inquiry? 4. Is there just one, unique, correct conception or theory of rationality, of universal applicability? He notes that historical epistemology and historicist philosophy of science based on the practice turn, the models turn, and the naturalistic turn have revived the philosophical impetus of the “new historicists”, and work by Foucault on “discursive formations”, and by Ian Hacking on historical ontologies and styles of thinking, provide a renewal of interest. My thesis was subtitled “An Historicist Approach to Philosophy of Education” and it was designed to capture the “new historicists” as a loosely connected group of thinkers influenced by Wittgenstein. The state of play in philosophy of science in the 1980s is still relevant to a history of rationality and its consequences I would argue are still being played out today. Rationality as a concept has changed over time and we can recognize the instrumental (means-ends) view and distinguish it from the formal (rules-based) version that operates pervasively in the social and economic sciences as homo economicus, inextricably tied to government rationality, or ‘governmentality’ as coined by Foucault. During the course of the twentieth-century developments in logic and algorithmic science have tightened the grip of probability. There remain the difficulties of the history of rationality with its fraught attempt to build an epistemological infrastructure based on universally valid principles of rationality. Many such attempts have been tied to the metaphysics concerning the nature of self and society in liberal modernity, depicted as the progress of reason. It often appears as a natural version of events and scholarship is depicted through the adoption of the superior argument. Philosophy of education is its modern guise is no exception and the extant state-of-the-art companions, handbooks and encyclopedia entries display this bias.2 One of the most dominant examples of this historical tendency in philosophy of education is D. C. Phillips and Harvey Siegel’s (2015) entry for The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy which advances the thesis of “Educating Reason”—the 2 See

Peters et al. (2014a). ‘Philosophy of Education’.

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rationality argument that suggests that education is and should concern the advance of Reason. They claim “it is impossible to do justice to the whole field of philosophy of education in a single encyclopedia entry” because there is such diversity in approaches even within the Anglo-American world let alone taking into account different cultural traditions. Phillips and Siegel (2015) embrace a liberal perspective of the history of the field within the Anglo-American world to advance an account of education as the embrace of universal standards or criteria of rationality. They argue the universality of which they speak is derived from the nature of Reason itself that is invariant when it comes to other cultures. Their position is a version of epistemological foundationalism concerning “justified true belief” and a theory of inferential justification. Such a position is a legacy of debates that emerged in 1930s over scientific method and the status of scientific knowledge. In order to hold anything like this position in principle they have to repudiate arguments of non-foundationalism developed by three of the greatest thinkers influencing philosophy of education in the west in the twentieth century—Dewey, Wittgenstein and Foucault—who together, though in different ways, advanced non-foundationalist accounts of knowledge and ultimately paved the way for post-foundationalism based on “the primacy of practice”. While there are differences in style and method and even in the conception of practical knowledge, Dewey and Wittgenstein share the same anti-foundationalism that Rorty (1979) explains by emphasizing a view of philosophy that is “therapeutic rather than constructive, edifying rather than systematic, designed to make the reader question his own motives for philosophizing rather than to supply him with a new philosophical program”. Dewey’s (1960, orig. 1929) The Quest for Certainty and Wittgenstein’s (1969) On Certainty might be read as a form of epistemological contextualism that askews foundationalism: they are alike in the sense that they do not believe that there is some fundamental belief or principle which is the basic ground or foundation of inquiry, knowledge and rationality. Foucault (1975) whose now classic work Discipline and Punish carries nearly 57,000 citations (more than twice the number of citations than Dewey’s Democracy and Education first published in 1916), a work that has been commented upon by many educational philosophers and theorists.3 I am taking issue with these two luminaries and able philosophers of education to demonstrate the central difficulty that Benjamin alludes to in his “Theses on the Philosophy of History”, with a focus on non-foundational models of rationality. Foucault is an interesting omission because he is a critical philosopher, who like Dewey and Wittgenstein naturalizes philosophy and holds to a form of anti-foundationalism that pragmatically subordinates knowledge to the contingency of human practice—and yet unlike them, he proposes a faithfulness to the Enlightenment based on the reactivation of an ethos or attitude of a permanent critique of ourselves and our institutions (Foucault 1984) that problematizes the culture of liberalism and liberal self.

3 See

Clare O’Farrell. (2014). “Bibliography of works on Foucault and Education” of over 400 works at https://foucaultnews.files.wordpress.com/2014/02/foucault-ed-biblio-fn3.pdf.

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Foucault’s approach also naturalizes and problematizes education as the progress of liberal reason, an argument and story that Siegel and Phillips seemed committed to despite the dynamic and changing historical context. In his three books Relativism Refuted (1987), Educating Reason (1988), and Rationality Redeemed? (1997) Siegel, for instance, in grand analytical style defends a traditional notion of rationality as a product of Enlightenment epistemology based on a reason-giving justificationist account and an absolute notion of truth, while casting doubt of the antifoundationalism of both Dewey’s pragmatism and work of the later Wittgenstein. Phillips’ (2014) entry on rationality is both an exposition and defence of Siegel’s position and the value of rationality as an educational aim. The main thrust of Siegel’s argument is that the Enlightenment standards of rationality hold universally across societies and epochs, and thus rationality and critical thinking based on it constitutes the fundamental aim of education. Yet even in the current policy environment there are examples of different types of rationality, some more instrumental than others. The prevailing theory of rationality and rational choice theory in economics and administration, what we can call the three assumptions underlying homo economicus—individualism, rationality and self-interest—have driven the privatization agenda of neoliberal school reform worldwide as well as serving the US Charter school movement. For reasons to do with the difficulties of an historical approach I have decided to discuss philosophy of education 1945–2010 in terms of three philosophers as emblematic of their time: Dewey, Wittgenstein, Foucault. Each stand in a relation to the culture of liberalism and liberal modernity. Dewey’s political philosophy demonstrates a new awareness of social and historical context and can be read as a reevaluation of the individualism of the classical liberal tradition and a precursor of the socially embedded individual. If the individual is to be regarded as socially and historically embedded we might consider rationality and reason in terms of its historically dynamic context, especially its contemporary development within the “epoch of digital reason” (Peters 2015) as the basis of education and scientific communication. Dewey existed in the golden age of American liberalism when it made good historical sense to claim that social change naturalized as evolutionary growth lead to “progress”. His democratic social philosophy, with education at the heart, seemed unquestioned and as natural a position as the progressive American way of life. R. S. Peters born in India in 1919, tutored by George Orwell, grew up, qualified and taught within the comfortable environment of English liberal education, teaching at Birkbeck College and then the London Institute until his retirement in 1983. His Ethics and Education and “education as initiation” also emerged from a close relationship to liberalism and democracy but of the English sort that seemed natural to a generation (and had seemed thus since Henry Newman’s The Idea of the University). Neither saw the rise of neoliberalism and the trumping of political liberalism through crude economic theories of the market and global market society that represented the mainspring of globalization in its rampant “free trade” and finance capital stages. The selection of Foucault may be controversial because he is not primarily regarded as a philosopher of education; some would argue he is not a philosopher at all. I use “Foucault” also as a name and touchstone for the increasingly diffuse

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nature of philosophy of education after the decline of analytic philosophy of education and what follows the critique of a single and universal notion of rationality. Here Foucault serves also to represent the growing engagement with Continental philosophy by philosophers of education. As an emblematic thinker he also represents a thinker who takes seriously an anti-foundationalism, anti-representationalism and the acceptance of historical and genealogical notions of Reason and rationality, in different ways prefigured by Dewey and Wittgenstein.

(b) John Dewey, Pragmatism and American Liberalism The name Dewey is synonymous with philosophy of education especially after his revival after the so-called linguistic turn especially in the work of Richard Rorty. Dewey barely makes it into the first period we discuss as he died in 1952 at the age of 93. As the voice of progressive education and liberalism with democracy as its ethical ideal, his legacy is significant in the period before his influence is temporarily occluded by the linguistic turn. His earliest works such as My Pedagogic Creed (1897) were published before the end of the nineteenth century. His classic work Democracy and Education (1916) and mature work including Art as Experience (1934) and Experience and Education (1938) fall outside the period of this study.4 The John Dewey Society was established in 19365 after talks held by some sixty liberal educators who thought that Dewey “represents the soundest and most hopeful approach to the study of the problems of education”. Some sixteen yearbooks were published during the period from 1937 to 1962, eight after 1945, with titles like Intercultural Attitudes in the Making (1947), Education for a World Society (1951), Educational Freedom in an Age of Anxiety (1953), and Negro Education in America (1962). Dewey was a prominent member in the movement of American pragmatism that began around the 1870s, along with Charles Sanders Peirce (1839–1914), William James (1842–1910). The classical pragmatists shared a similar epistemological perspective including a pragmatist maxim of truth, a fallibilist anti-Cartesian approach to rationality and the norms that govern inquiry (Hookway 2016). It was a philosophy that went into decline in the first half of the twentieth century largely under the shadow of the linguistic turn, to be revived and refashioned by Rorty, Putnam, Brandom and others after 1970. Generally, Dewey and other pragmatists tended to reject foundationalism or the view that all knowledge and justified belief rest ultimately on a foundation of non-inferential knowledge or justified belief. They also 4 Southern Illinois University Press divides his complete works into: The Early Works: 1892–1898 (5

volumes); The Middle Works: 1899–1924 (15 volumes); The Later Works: 1925–1953 (17 volumes); and, Supplementary Volume 1: 1884–1951. See http://archives.lib.siu.edu/index.php?p=collections/ controlcard&id=2125 and http://deweycenter.siu.edu/. Works about Dewey have mushroomed with 1500 new entries since 2013, see Barbara Levine. (2016). Works about John Dewey 1886–2016 at http://deweycenter.siu.edu/_common/documents/Works%20About%20Dewey%202016.pdf. 5 See http://www.johndeweysociety.org/.

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adopt an anti-representationalist view of meaning, rejecting the idea that meaning springs from a correspondence relation to the world and accurate representation of objective reality. Dewey’s “theory of inquiry” as he likes to call it was based on a kind of “instrumentalism” or “instrumental rationality” which was for him “an affair of the relation of means and consequences” not of fixed first principles but as an interpretation of the basic category of logical forms that characterizes all reasoning. Truth as “warranted assertibility” derives from his conception of rationality. As Garrison (1999, p. 291) puts it: For Dewey, all meanings are consequences of shared social action, and all objects, all truths, including the formal laws of logic themselves, are the fallible and contingent objectives of inquiry.

Dewey’s democratic approach to schooling helped to bring about a child-centred approach based on a theory of experience (learning by doing) and the cultivation of problem-solving skills to help reinvent democracy as an American way of life. He retired in the 1930s, well before the beginning of this period (1945–2010), and when he died in 1952 his ideas lived on, first among a group of liberal educators (and only later by philosophers) who took him to represent “the high tide of American liberalism” (Ryan 1997). Reviewing Ryan’s book Richard Rorty (1996) observed: Ryan rightly remarks that Dewey ‘defended democracy as the modern, secular realisation of the kingdom of God on earth’. But Dewey was convinced that the romance of democracy— the vision of human beings freely co-operating to construct socially a subjectivity beyond their ancestors’ dreams—required a more thorough-going secularism than Enlightenment rationalism and 19th-century scientism had achieved. He would have agreed with Foucault that it requires a radical anti-authoritarianism: a refusal to accept obligations to any nonhuman power, including Reality. He agreed with Nietzsche that the traditional notion of Truth, as correspondence to the intrinsic nature of Reality, was a remnant of the idea of submission to the Will of God. When Sin goes, he thought, so should the duty to seek for such correspondence. In its place we should put the duty to seek consensus—agreement with other human beings about what beliefs will best sustain and facilitate our projects of social co-operation. (p. 7)

Rorty (1996) remarks, paraphrasing Dewey, “to call a statement ‘true’ is no more than to say that it is good to steer our practice by”. Rorty (1998, p. 18) sensing its impracticality takes the Deweyan meaning of the term “democracy” as a “shorthand for a new conception of what it is to be human—a conception which has no room for obedience to a nonhuman authority, and in which nothing save freely achieved consensus among human beings has any authority at all”. John Dewey (1916) as perhaps the arch defender of participatory democracy proposed an “ecological” system over a hundred years ago that was based on a form of Darwinian naturalism that understood that knowledge arises from the experience of the human organism in the process of adapting to its environment. For Dewey democracy is not just a means of protecting our interests or expressing our individuality, but also a forum for determining our interests. It was above all an account of democracy as social inquiry that emphasized the importance of discussion and debate as a mechanism of decision-making with the institution of education at its

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heart. Democracy is a form of “organized intelligence” and “education is a regulation of the process of coming to share in the social consciousness” as he says in My Pedagogical Creed (Dewey 1897, p. 15), as the only sure means of social reconstruction and reform. Dewey is the foremost philosopher of education in the twentieth century and perhaps also the most concerned for developing an account of education and democracy–of education as essential democratic institution in building civil society and citizenship. As such it might be argued that Dewey proposed the ideal “ecological” model of grassroots participation that cultivates green citizenship. What is worthy of consideration is the ready acceptance by Dewey of the argument of social ecology when it comes to a democracy—of “organized intelligence” (what we might call ‘collective intelligence’ today). There are also good grounds for interpreting Dewey’s naturalistic theory of experience as a fundamental ecological perspective and that takes us in the direction of the definition of ecological democracy as sustainability in action—not merely a set of biological processes but simultaneously an orientation of grassroots social and political forces shaping the ecosphere.

(c) Wittgenstein, Liberal Education and Analytical Philosophy of Education While R. S. Peters (1919–2011) was the undisputed champion of analytic philosophy in education during the 1960s and 1970s, he also made important contributions to philosophy of psychology and political philosophy in his early work, publishing the path-breaking Social Principles and the Democratic State with Stanley Benn in 1959 and initiating analytical political philosophy. Peters was Professor of Philosophy of Education at the Institute of Education at London University from 1962 to 1983 and Dean in 1971. He worked with Paul Hirst and developed a group of younger talented thinkers who completed their PhDs under his watch including: R. K. Elliott, David Cooper, John White, Patricia White, and Robert Dearden. The Concept of Motivation (1958) preceded his influential inaugural lecture, ‘Education as initiation’ (1964) and, perhaps, his most famous work Ethics and education (1965). With Dearden and Hirst he co-edited Education and the development of reason (1972), and edited The Philosophy of Education (1973), among other texts on ethics and psychology. His work as part of the “London School” was highly influential in establishing analytical philosophy of education in the UK. Analytical philosophy of education was very much an Anglo-American affair that followed slavishly from the “revolution” in linguistic philosophy inaugurated by Frege, Russell and, above all, Wittgenstein. In the USA, the Philosophy of Education Society was established in 1941 and the journal Educational Theory was established some ten years later. The Committee of Philosophy of Education issued a statement “The Distinctive Nature of the Discipline of Philosophy of Education” in 1954 (Educational Theory, 4(1), 1–3) adopted

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by the Society. The Statement indicated that the discipline used “unique theoretical tools” including concepts and categories, to examine the “criteria, assumptions and/or reasons that guide assessments, judgement and choices” on the basis of an acquaintance with events and practices of education (p. 1). The domain of philosophy helps to make it distinctive because philosophy is in part the critical and reflective activity of its object of study. The Statement then explicates “education”: “The term education may refer to any deliberate to nurture, modify, change and/or develop human conduct or behavior; or it may refer to organized schooling”. It mentions three interrelated tasks of philosophic thought including: the descriptive-analytical; the critical-evaluative; and the speculative. In this approach the conceptual is very prominent even although the approach from conceptual analysis had not yet taken hold. Israel Scheffler (1923–2014), an American philosopher of education and science, studied with Nelson Goodman and took up a teaching post at Harvard University in 1952 where he spent his academic career, retiring in 1992. He was one of the first to recognize the gains of an analytical philosophy of education (Scheffler 1954) publishing a series of influential texts including Philosophy and Education: Modern Readings (1966), Conditions of Knowledge: An Introduction to Epistemology and Education (1978) and The Language of Education (1983), among other titles. As philosophers of education both R. S. Peters and Scheffer argued that philosophers had the metalinguistic task of clarifying our educational concepts and thoughts, making sure that teachers, policy practitioners and educational researchers had “clean” and well-ordered concepts to go about their business with. It’s a view that does find some echoes in Wittgenstein, perhaps less in the later than in the early Wittgenstein, but quickly became doctrinaire and ideologically dangerous because it was associated with the view both in philosophy and philosophy of education that this was/is the only true description of philosophy—a meta-activity that made sure our concepts and language was in order, or a form of analysis that depicted our conceptual schema. The view of philosophy as clarification does hold a place in Wittgenstein’s thought, but nothing like the obsession with a magical method and “linguistic hygiene” that characterized the depiction of Wittgenstein proposed by R. S. Peters of the “London School”, which had taken the linguistic turn. The linguistic turn was an unassailable and wholesale sea-change in twentiethcentury philosophy that captured two fundamental insights: the claim that all knowledge is dependent upon its expression in language (all thought is languagedependent)—as Wittgenstein suggested “what can be said can be said clearly” and “that we cannot speak of we must pass over in silence”—and the goal of philosophy is to provide an understanding or survey of our conceptual schema in order to resolve problems that arise from the misuse of words. This is not an investigation of the world but rather a step removed—a meta-activity that seeks agreement to resolve conceptual confusions that arise in our use of concepts. In The Linguistic Turn Richard Rorty (1967) wrote of the metaphysical difficulties of linguistic philosophy associated with the thought of Wittgenstein and that led to the revolutionary attempt to turn philosophy into a science through the adoption of a new “presuppositionless” method. By “linguistic philosophy” Rorty (1967) meant

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the “view that philosophical problems are problems that can be solved (or dissolved) either by reforming language, or by understanding more about the language we presently use” (p. 3). This revolution like others in the history of philosophy has been inspired by the search for a neutral standpoint that rested on the understanding that philosophical questions are questions of language—the metaphilosophical presupposition that united both ideal language philosophy (ILP) and ordinary language philosophy (OLP). The thrust of Rorty’s argument developed further in Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979) was that there are no criteria or test for successful analysis in either ILP or OLP. P. M. S. Hacker (2005) provides a more elaborate picture of the history of analytic philosophy. He suggests it “originated in Cambridge in the late 1890s with the revolt, by the young Moore and Russell, against the neo-Hegelian Absolute Idealism that had dominated British philosophy in the last third of the nineteenth century” (p. 1). He describes Wittgenstein’s logical atomism of the Tractatus as the culmination of the first phase and the primary source of the next two phases that he gives as Cambridge philosophy of the 1920s and 1930s under Ramsey, Braithwaite and Wisdom, and the logical empiricism of the Vienna Circle. The second phase was short-lived and the third, with a focus on the logic of scientific language, was interrupted by the Nazis. The leading members of the Vienna Circle, including Carnap, Feigl, Reichenbach, Hempel, Frank, Tarski, Bergmann, Gödel, “fled to the USA, where they played a major role in the post-war years in transforming American pragmatism into logical pragmatism” (p. 2). Hacker (2005) suggests that the fourth phase was OLP led by Ryle and Austin, “with Berlin, Hampshire, Hart, Grice, and after 1959, Ayer (influenced by the Vienna Circle), and among the post-war generation Strawson and Hare” (p. 3). Interwoven with post-war Oxford philosophy was a strand based on the Investigations including the work of von Wright, Wisdom and Anscombe. The fourth phase, Hacker suggests declined in the 1970s and gave way to American logical pragmatism in the work of Quine, Davidson, Putnam and (in Britain) Dummett. In making this assessment Hacker (2005) like Rorty looking back acknowledges that there is a great deal of confusion over what constitutes the linguistic turn. He writes: Rorty sensed, rightly I think, that a deep and important change had occurred in analytic philosophy in the 1930s and 1940s—a shift in the conception of the problems and methods of philosophy that to some extent bridged the gulf that separated the Vienna Circle and affiliates (with all the differences there were between the Schlick/Waismann wing, on the one hand, and the Neurath/Carnap wing, on the other) from Oxford philosophers and affiliates and followers of Wittgenstein (with all the differences between them). Despite these great differences both within and between these two streams, a sea-change had occurred. (p. 10)

“The linguistic turn” was a phrase popularized by Rorty in 1967 with a collection of the same title—The Lingusitic Turn: Essays in Philosophical Method. He adopted the term from the Austrian philosopher Gustav Bergmann. The notion of “the linguistic turn” while originally used to describe the rising influence of logical positivism, especially the work of Rudolf Carnap and others, Wittgenstein-inspired phases in the history of analytic philosophy also came to represent and provide a description for a range of very different intellectual movements that, for want

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of better descriptors, I have used the terms postpositivism, postmodernism, poststructuralism and postcolonialism–four compassing but very different intellectual movements dominating the early twenty-first century in science and the humanities. Wittgenstein helped inaugurate and in part was responsible for the linguistic turn in its various phases of the history of analytical philosophy and I have argued that he demonstrated certain affinities with themes of the other three movements. He was also, and partly as a consequence of the linguistic turn, responsible for inspiring the ‘cultural turn’ and the associated turn to practice and space that presently characterizes the social sciences. Post-analytical philosophy took with Rorty after the “death” of Kantian-styled analysis. Rorty’s (1979) linguistic turn had finally collapsed into a kind of philosophical hermeneutics he called “conversation” that was in reality a combination of Michael Oakeshott’s emphasis on liberal learning and Hans-Georg Gadamer’s philosophical hermeneutics. In philosophy and philosophy of education it represented a move away from epistemology-centred philosophy and forms of foundationalism and representationalism. Its popularization in philosophy led to the slow decline of analysis as a form of conceptual analysis or conceptual clarification. Where Rorty chooses Oakeshott and Gadamer as the narrative way forward for philosophy, I choose the figure and the work of Michel Foucault, who unlike Dewey, Wittgenstein and Rorty himself wants to put the history of liberalism and liberal culture under a form of philo-historical or genealogical analyses. By contrast Foucault demonstrates that the history of liberal education is not so much the “education of reason” based on the unchanging notions of rationality and truth (as Siegel and Phillips would have it), but rather a problematic history of liberal modernity that rejects the easy equation of reason, emancipation and progress through education to argue that modern forms of power and knowledge have served to create new forms of domination. This is an account of liberal modernity that calls into question the very “education of reason” assumed so lightly by Dewey and Peters, and made the epistemological centrepiece of liberal education by Siegel and Phillips.

(d) Michel Foucault, Governmentality and Neoliberal Rationality in Education Where Dewey and Wittgenstein reject all forms of foundationalism to emphasize the primacy of practice and practical reason, Foucault embraces a political form of reason that inverts Kant to emphasize that purported modern scientific truths about human nature, on examination, turn out to be “mere expressions of ethical and political commitments of a particular society”—the “outcome of contingent historical forces” rather than “scientifically grounded truths” (Gutting 2014). This view shows itself in Foucault’s understanding of modern reason and power that cashs itself out in the institutional forms of disciplinary rationality of the clinic, the prison and the school, demonstrating the operation of an insidious form of power and rationality

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that imposed itself on Western societies and become the central problematic of liberal modernity. Foucault (2001, p. 225) writes: since Kant, the role of philosophy has been to prevent reason going beyond the limits of what is given in experience; but from the same moment- that is, from the development of modern states and political management of society— the role of philosophy has also been to keep watch over the excessive powers of political rationality…

In the Tanner Lectures delivered at Stanford University in 1979 Foucault pits a pastoral individualizing form of power against the centralized and centralizing power of the state. He traces the development of pastoral power in early Christianity exerted upon the individual through the demonstration of truth in practical self-examination. He then turns to “reason of state” (and the theory of police as a form of administrative power) during the period when the modern state came into being. He argues: Political rationality has grown and imposed itself all throughout the history of Western societies. It first took its stand on the idea of pastoral power, then on that of reason of state. Its inevitable effects are both individualisation and totalisation. Liberation can only come from attacking, not just one of these two effects, but political rationality’s very roots. (Foucault 2001, p. 254)

Foucault’s historical analysis of the “art of government” that leads to his governmentality studies, provides a very different picture of rationality and education as a central part of the “great carceral continuum” (Foucault 1979, p. 297) and as emerging within a disciplinary society that involves both an intensification and deepening of social control. Contrary to analytic philosophy of education, it is not to be associated with the public use of reason or with increased civilization and social progress, but rather with the development of an ever more sophisticated range of knowledges, techniques and technologies that ensure efficient, productive and docile bodies. The classroom (just like the workshop, barracks or prison) becomes:… subject to a whole micro-penality of time (lateness, absences, interruptions of tasks), of activity (inattention, negligence, lack of zeal), of behaviour (impoliteness, disobedience), of speech (idle chatter, insolence), of the body (‘incorrect’ attitudes, irregular gestures, lack of cleanliness), of sexuality (impurity, indecency) … (Foucault 1979, p. 178)

Foucault’s (1991) concept of governmentality as a means of mapping the “history of the present” understands the rationality of government as both permitting and requiring the practice of freedom of its subjects. Foucault’s approach to governance avoids interpreting liberalism as an ideology, political philosophy, or an economic theory and reconfigures it as a form of governmentality with an emphasis on the question of how power is exercised. It makes central the notion of the self -limiting state which, in contrast to the administrative or “police” state, brings together in a productive way questions of ethics and technique, through the responsibilization of moral agents and the active reconstruction of the relation between government and self-government. Most importantly, it proposes an investigation of neoliberalism as an intensification of an economy of moral regulation first developed by liberals, and not merely or primarily as a political reaction to big government or the socalled bureaucratic welfare state of the post-war Keynesian settlement. It understands

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neoliberalism through the development of an actuarial rationality and new forms of prudentialism that manifest and constitute themselves discursively in the language of the market (Peters 2005).

(e) Rationality as a Language-Game The paradigm of “the education of reason” gives education a central place in the history of reason as that discipline that is responsible for teaching the virtues of reason. The western dream of reason provides an internal history from the Greeks, through the Renaissance to the scientific revolution and after, considered as a refinement of an approach and methodology that explains the success of science and of liberal society as products of the Enlightenment. On the basis of this dream after the Greeks invented reason, it became enshrined as the supreme value during the Enlightenment and the education of reason became the flattering self-concept of philosophy and the western worldview. The concept of reason has been central to the west’s definition of itself yet the concept has changed over time. It is no longer regarded as a metaphysical principle to be found in the world or a special human faculty. In the history of the shift from magic to rational states of mind, from predominately oral cultures to literate ones, changes in technology of communication have had widespread effects. The invention of different forms of calculus and probability, and the development of machine language-games, the use of algorithmic systems and Big Data, as well as the development of the internet, provide examples of the continuing evolution of technological practices as part of our form of life. The shifting concept of reason is registered in the computational and later neurological (neural networks) theory of mind. In this context we might also talk about the emergence of the cybernetic concept of rationality and the marriage of its leading forms of information and biological science into bioinformationalism. A Wittgensteinian language-game analysis of rationality, of reason-giving, of argumentation, of weighing evidence and advancing claims, is not a privileged activity nor any more fundamental than any other game. A language-game approach to the political economy of cybernetical rationality which is at once contextual, historical and evolutionary, seems an appropriate means for mapping our technological culture. Such a view is demanded in relation to the rapidly shifting history of technological reason and the emergence of the concept of techno-science, that springs from the French tradition of historical epistemology dating from the work of Bachelard, Canguilhem, Hottois, Foucault and Lyotard (Peters 2020a). As Menashe Schwed (2009) indicates quoting Wittgenstein: “Reasoning” and “rationality” “has not the formal unity that I imagined [in the Tractatus], but is the family of structures more or less related to one another” (PI §108). And he invokes Wittgenstein’s classic notion of “family resemblances”:

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These concepts, as ‘rational,’ ‘rationality,’ ‘reason,’ and ‘reasoning,’ which constitute a family of concepts, are connected by a series of overlapping similarities, where no one feature is common to all: “I can think of no better expression to characterize these similarities than “family resemblances””. (PI §67) (p. 8)

Such a recognition emphasizes both the contingency and the variety of ways of reasoning and thinking. The “education of reason” is a crucially significant aspect of the Western liberal dream of reason in that it reserves a special institution cultural space for education as the development of reason understood in relation to models of strict logic and rules of inference. It delivers a foundationalist analysis and interpretation that springs from the assumptions of liberalism construed in abstract, individualist, rationalist, white, and male terms emphasizing universally valid criteria. The problem which becomes more pronounced over time with the passing of history is that this account of rationality is biased toward a very small proportion of people in the English-speaking world—a highly educated elite who practice its norms; or, more properly, are depicted as rational scientists. It is no longer possible to maintain this position of universally valid criteria for rationality in the face of the growing recognition of radical differences among genders and cultures. Rationality that takes the form of rational choice theory based on understanding behaviour as the maximization of preferences has its limits revealed in the critique of assumptions of individuality, rationality and self-interest. Wittgenstein and others who follow him have shown that our rationality is governed by the fact that we are social, gendered and linguistic animals based on language-games and cultural practices. The “postmodern critique” has revealed that there is no one universally valid notion of rationality, but, rather, such claims depend on a western scholarly tradition that itself systematically expressed hidden relations of power incapable of rational justification. Today who would still hold that the university—whether liberal or neoliberal—was or is a bastion of rationality? The universalist notion also rests on an outmoded Western individualistic, foundationalist account of Reason that ignores its social, species and cultural dimensions. This is in part Critical Theory’s critique of instrumental rationality as the ability to select good means to ends. This is not to deny instrumental rationality, but only to recognize that it is one element in the broader cultural value system; one language-game among many others comprising the game of rationality. Yet the fact that rationality has no foundation does not entail that we are not rational, that we cannot be rational and that we cannot be taught to be rational, just as we have come to accept that knowledge does not require foundations in order to count as knowledge. In educational philosophy and theory Wittgenstein helps us to reject universalist accounts of rationality and to adopt a more modest and nuanced account attuned to the family of concepts and language-games based on the use of the terms, “rationality”, “reason”, “reasoning” (in all its forms), and “their diversity as part of the variety of language and our uses of it” (Schwed 2009, pp. 3–4) and, for that matter, also the family history of popular terms including “reasonable”, “reasonableness”, “rationalism” as well as “logic”, “rules”, “rule following”, and “truth”, and the forms of rationality (theoretical, practical, instrumental, critical etc.) that, together, have come to characterize a dominant discourse of philosophy in the West. It is a concept of rationality in use that also indicates that in our culture science and

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technology have become “techno-science”, a historically new form of rationality that registers the evolving dominant techniques and growing epistemic interdependence of gnomic and information science.6

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Apple, M. (1980). The other side of the hidden curriculum: Correspondence theories and the labor process. Journal of Education, 162(1), 47–66. Ayer, A. J. (1956). The problem of knowledge (reprinted 1971). Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Banks, O. (1974). The new sociology of education: Some dangers of the approach. Forum, Autumn. Bates, R. J. (1978). Directions Journal of “The New Sociology of Education: for Theory and Research”. New Zealand Educational Studies, 13(1), 3–22. Bates, R. J. (1979, July). New developments in the new sociology of education. Paper presented to the Sociology Association of Australia and New Zealand Annual Conference, Canberra, pp. 1–27. Benn, S. I., & Mortimore, G. W. (Eds.). (1976). Rationality and the social sciences. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Bernbaum, G. (1977). Knowledge and ideology in the sociology of education. London: Macmillan. Bernstein, B. (1975). Class, codes and control: Towards a theory of educational transmission (Vol. 3). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Bernstein, R. J. (1980). Philosophy in the conversation of mankind. Review of Metaphysics, XXXIII(4), 745–775. Bieri, P., Horstmann, R.-P., & Kruger, L. (Eds.). (1979). Transcendental arguments and science. Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. Bleicher, J. (1982). The hermeneutic imagination: Outline of a positive critique of scientism and sociology. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Block, I. (Ed.). (1981). Perspectives on the philosophy of Wittgenstein. Southampton, UK: Blackwell. Bourdieu, J., & Passeron, J.-P. (1977). Reproduction in education, society and culture. London: Sage. Bowles, S., & Gintis, H. (1980). Contradiction and reproduction in educational theory. In L. Barton, R. Meighan, & S. Walker (Eds.), Schooling, ideology and the curriculum (pp. 51–66). Sussex: Falmer Press. Briskman, L. (1977). Historicism, relativism and bootstrap rationality. The Monist, 60, 509–539. Brown, H. I. (1983a). Incommensurability. Inquiry, 21(1), 3–30. Brown, R. H. (1983). Theories of rhetoric and the rhetoric of theory: Towards a political phenomenology of sociological truth. Social Research, 2.2(1)(Spring), 126–157. Bruce, F. F. (1970). Tradition old and new. Exeter, UK: Paternoster Press. Buber, M. (1970). I and Thou (W. Kaufman, Trans.). Edinburgh: Paternoster Press. Buck-Morss, S. (1980). Piaget, Adorno, and the possibilities of dialectical operations. In H. J. Silverman (Ed.), Piaget, philosophy and the human sciences. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press. Burke, T. E. (1979). The limits of relativism. Philosophical Quarterly, 29, 116. Burian, R. (1979). More than a marriage of convenience: On the inextricability of history and philosophy of science. Philosophy of Science, 44, 1–42. Callinicos, A. (1976). Althusser’s Marxism. London: Pluto Press. Cardenal, F., & Miller, V. (1981). Nicaragua 1980: The battle of the ABCs. Harvard Educational Review, 51(1), 1–26. Caton, C. E. (Ed.). (1963). Philosophy and ordinary language. Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Chappell, V. C. (Ed.). (1964). Ordinary language. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Chomsky, N. (1976). Reflections on language. Glasgow: Fontana & Collins. Clark, J., & Freeman, H. (1979a). Michael Young’s sociology of knowledge: Epistemological sense or non-sense? Journal of Further and Higher Education, 3(1), 2–17. Clark, J., & Freeman, H. (1979b). Michael Young’s sociology of knowledge: Criticisms of philosophy of education reconsidered. Journal of Further and Higher Education, 3(2), 11–23. Cohen, H. (1980). Countering the revision of Marxist-Leninist philosophy. In A. Burger, H. Cohen, & D. Degrood (Eds.), Marxism, science and the movement of history. Amsterdam: Gruner. Collingwood, R. G. (1948). The idea of history. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cooper, B. A. (1973). Peters’ concept of education. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 5, 59–76.

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