It is difficult to find just one place to look for children and childhood in the American philosopher John Dewey’s work. This is not because he uses the terms so often, but because the concept of childhood pervades his opus in and through another set of terms—development, growth, experience, plasticity, habit, impulse, and education. In Dewey’s language, none of these terms mean quite what they mean in other thinkers’ language, and especially not in the language of the human development theorists of the early twentieth century and after, who based their thinking on a monological, unidirectional developmental trajectory that could be applied at all levels of the evolutionary continuum. Dewey is an interactionist through and through, and thus all his terms should be understood as dialectical. He does not invoke the concept “child” without invoking the concept “adult,” nor does he describe anything that does not have a normative dimension, which by definition belies “pure” description. His is a language of possibility, and the limits of human possibility are incalculable. This is why the concept of childhood is so important in his work. In this text we present selections from two works, the first emerging at the sickening epicenter of the Great War, in 1916—a war in which youth was sacrificed to what he calls adult “infantilisms” on a historically unprecedented scale, and a war that, arguably, effectively suppressed the educational possibilities his work represents for the rest of the century. Democracy and Education (New York: Macmillan) is his magnum opus on education, and characteristically both garrulous and brilliantly pointed, maddeningly oblique and trenchantly critical, painfully dull and fitfully enthralling, explicitly conservative and implicitly radical. The next selections are from Human Nature and Conduct (Carbondale IL: Southern Illinois University Press), published in 1922, when the orgiastic death- feast of the tyrants, the politicians, and their hosts of blind acolytes was (temporarily) over.
According to Val Plumwood (1995), liberal-democracy is an authoritarian political system that protects privilege but fails to protect nature. A major obstacle, she says, is radical inequality, which has become increasingly far-reaching under liberal-democracy; an indicator of ‘the capacity of its privileged groups to distribute social goods upwards and to create rigidities which hinder the democratic correctiveness of social institutions’ (p. 134). This cautionary tale has repercussions for education, especially civics and citizenship education. To address this, we explore the potential of what Gerard Delanty calls ‘cultural citizenship’ as an alternative to the disciplinary citizenship that permeates Western liberal discourse. Cultural citizenship emphasises citizenship as communication and continual learning processes, rejecting the idea of citizenship as a fixed set of cultural ideals, norms or values defined and enforced by liberal society’s legal, political and cultural institutions, including education and ‘citizenship training’. However, we contend that a critical first step, essential to democratic correctiveness, is to clear away obstacles created by the privileging of a dominant epistemic position. We conclude that Plumwood’s philosophy alongside John Dewey’s work on democracy and education provide a theoretical framework for effective democratic inquiry aimed towards interconnective, deliberative practice and corrective methodology for epistemic accountability.
Dewey argued that it was not enough to reject traditional education nor was it enough for progressive educators to throw out everything the old schools had done. He realized the difficulty of giving an account of the educational experience that would elicit a kind of discipline and an approach to the syllabus and the authority of the teacher in the classroom that would grow out of experience itself. In Democracy and Education, he argued that new education must ask this question: “How were we to acquire the capacity for wider, deeper, more organic experience and the capacity to communicate it?” (Ryan, 1995, p. 282). Intelligent activity reveals the competence of the young person to plan his/her activities and manage his/her doings in the business of the world (Ryan, 1995). The philosophy as education promoted by Dewey liberates us from the strict notion of practice. He talked about what he saw as the indivisible affiliation between philosophy and education (Kaminsky, 1992; Schilpp & Lewis, 1989).
application of theory that underlies a transformative approach to learning (Althusser, 1976), and provides the framework for a form of critical discourse that can change the pedagogical process from one of knowledge transmission to knowledge transformation (Leonardo, 2004). ‘In quality education, criticism functions to cultivate students’ ability to question, deconstruct, and then reconstruct knowledge in the interest of emancipation’ (Leonardo, 2004, p. 12). However, critical social theorists do not only focus on critique. Their approach to quality education also engages in a language of transcendence, so there is a capacity to imagine an alternative reality and a hope for education and society (Giroux, 1983; Giroux, 1988; Greene, 1986; Kincheloe, 1993). Critical social theory can be linked back to the Frankfurt School of sociologists such as Theodore Adorno, Walter Benjamin, Herbert Marcuse and Eric Fromm. The Frankfurt School theorists were anti-positivist and had an emancipatory ideal in that they sought to free people from a ‘false consciousness’. They were sceptical of prevailing ideologies and the thoughts associated with them as they argued that these ideologies and thoughts concealed social inequalities. Transformation is thus required (eg., Agger, 2006, 1991; Leonardo, 2004; Dant, 2003). This
What is being suggested here is that we should reimagine education as part of the democratic and city-based commons. If authoritarian learning patterns under neoliberalism seek to impose control from above, while encouraging students to view themselves as potentially upwardly mobile consumers of knowledge, then what is missing from this pattern is that many leave school having failed. Indeed, it is perhaps not surprising that institutional contexts that favour conformity, uniformity, standardisation, and hierarchy are also breeding grounds for those with a disposition for being authoritarian (ELMORE, 2017). A more democratic mind, necessarily fearful of simply imposing absolutist views on others, is not best fostered within such a context. A democratic education will necessarily encourage the exploration of truth, ambiguity and creativity while being sceptical of environments that are ruled by fear and top-down forms of control. A school for the democratic commons would depend upon more participatory and decentralised systems of self-management. A school for the commons would need to be small enough to create the environment necessary for human relationships based upon care and the ability to respond to difference. As Rebecca Martusewicz (2005, p. 334) argues, the dominant mode of being in the context of capitalism and consumerism depends upon “the spell of denial, disconnection and hyper-separation”. Similarly, Raymond Williams (1989, p. 117) persistently pointed out that the desire to view others and the natural landscape as resources to be exploited acts as a form of “imperialism”. In other words, capitalism naturalises a wider society based upon the rule of private property and hierarchy, while holding in check more complex, democratic and attached sensibilities. This would inevitably mean that, once the state’s direct control over education had been substantially relaxed, then schools would become free to experiment with more democratic and place-based pedagogies (WILLIAMS, 1989, p. 242). In a more global context, it is capitalism rather than citizens that have no specific attachments to the meanings of place. A democratic pedagogy would not only need to give expression to a broader range of subjects, made possible by a less centralised curriculum, but also be able to more carefully explore a complex politics of place in relation to questions of culture and nature. If the need for a democratic education can no longer be justified in respect of questions of human nature, it is likely to have a crucial role in helping foster the diverse and argumentative citizens of the future who feel a strong connection to the ecological commons. Finally, it remains to be seen whether social movements begin the project of rethinking questions of democracy. This need not lead to an all-out assault on the established routines of liberal democracy, but should instead acknowledge the importance of the limited freedoms
of necessity it is that your honours be most careful for the virtuous education and godly upbringing of the youth of this realm, if either ye now thirst unfeignedly [for] the advancement of Christ’s glory, or yet desire the continuance of his benefits to the generation following. For as the youth must succeed to us, so we ought to be careful that they have the knowledge and erudition to profit and comfort that which ought to be most dear to us - to wit, the church and spouse of Jesus Christ … The fruit and commodity hereof shall suddenly appear. For, first, the youth and tender children shall be nourished and brought up in virtue, in presence of their friends; by whose good attendance many inconveniences may be avoided, in the which the youth commonly fall, either by too much liberty, which they have in strange and unknown places, while they cannot rule themselves; or else for lack of good attendance, and of such necessities as their tender age requires. Secondly, the exercise of the children in every church shall be great instruction to the aged. (Knox 1560:12–13)
Social change requires working with others and is usually thought of some tangible, external action. Yet changing beliefs— a necessary requisite for social change against systemic injustice— requires work on the self. Understanding injustice involves cognitive, emotional, relational, embodied, and spiritual domains. These are the domains that are attended to in mindfulness prac- tices, whereas even instructional practices that are democratic- dialogic can get caught up in being cognitive exercises, alone. Those of us involved in social justice education understand that information about injustice is not enough to create action toward change. Information itself does not change us until it becomes incorporated into our worldviews. But this requires a dismantling of tightly held beliefs about the universality of our own or our groups’ experiences. And these beliefs operate like wheels in our heads, continually generating and repeating scripts about the way things are, as they have been handed to us from some socialization process, like education, and reified through public images and discourse (Orr, 2002). These scripts continue unless consciously examined and intentionally revised. Mindfulness practices are specifically suited to unlearning and relearning deeply held and emotionally charged beliefs.
For Dewey, a completed thought required one to reflect on an experience. In many instances, this can be achieved linguistically, utilizing the avenues of speech or writing. At other times, however, reflection must be achieved through other media. These other media—be they music or dance, painting or sculpture—are most often assigned a more abstract term: art. Yet, for Dewey, art was decidedly concrete. He had determined that it is the “ ... degree of completeness of living in the experience of making and of perceiving that makes the difference between what is fine or esthetic in art and what is not” (Dewey, 1980, p. 26). Unfortunately, the famed Gilded Age through which Dewey lived in the United States brought with it a stratification of society and a de facto appropriation of the fine arts by the new aristocracy (N. Harris, 1962). Art came to be something that could only be accessed by money, in spite of its existence in humans long before the development of currency (Davies, 1994; Henshilwood & d'Errico, 2011; Henshilwood & Marean, 2003; Ridley, 2010). The limited accessibility meant the outlets for observing others’ reflections were directly tied to one’s finances. This cultural development bled into the schools, which in Dewey’s time began to cut funding for art (Dewey, 1966), a trend that would continue into the 21 st century (Ravitch, 2011; Webb, 2006). This decision limited the means by which students could complete their own thoughts and develop meaning for their experiences through reflection.
Historically, music education, and especially choral singing, has held a unique place in the educational system of the Czech Republic (formerly Czechoslovakia). Since the first church schools were established in the 6 th Century, music always held a place as one of the paramount subject disciplines, a description of which is outlined in Chapter Two. While the history of the Czech lands has been turbulent, two of the most interesting times have been the periods beginning in 1948, when Czechoslovakia first came under the domination of the Soviet Union, and then after 1989, when the Velvet Revolution provided the catalyst for the transition from communism to democracy that led to the dissolution of the union between the Czechs and Slovaks. In 1993, Czechoslovakia peacefully divided into two independent countries: the Czech Republic and Slovakia. This study of the history of choral music education in the Czech Republic and former Czechoslovakia deals with the historical era between 1948 and 2011—the latter was the year in which the first Czech president of modern history, the poet Vaclav Havel (b. 1936-2011), died. Ultimately, and while of necessity, this study commences with an examination of choral music education within Czechoslovakia following World War II and leading up to the dissolution of the country in 1993, its primary purpose is to generate a picture of choral music education in the Czech lands between 1948 and 2011 so as to better understand how it was influenced by, while also being implicated in, national and regional politics and events.
International benchmarks provide opportunity for international comparisons on student outcomes and educa- tional systems, and have become a globalizing factor, continuing to increase in popularity and use worldwide. Two of examples that are heavily influencing educational policy reform globally are the results of the Pro- gramme of International Student Assessment (PISA) and the United Nations Children Fund study on childhood wellness (UNICEF). PISA is a triennial international study of student learning out comes in reading, math and science for 15 year olds. PISA has evolved to serve as a global standard and international benchmark used to compare over 65 countries (Breakspear, 2012). Five dimensions discern the UNICEF study of children’s well- ness: material, health and safety, education, behaviors and risks, and housing and environment in the world’s advance economies (2013). The dimensions of UNICEF provide a look at how countries and polices support their citizens wellness.
If my inference about the tension that is activated when spirituality is situated as educationally relevant is accurate, then critical democratic education and spiritually responsive pedagogy share a common purpose: Both act as counter- narratives to educational practices that sustain majority culture– based systems of oppression, marginalization, and alienation. A philosophy about teaching and learning that renders spirituality and spiritual growth as irrelevant to the learning process requires that both teachers and students see themselves as fragmented entities. Excluding peda- gogical knowledge about spiritual development facilitates the suppression of compassion, wonder, tolerance for ambiguity, and a sense of interconnection in the classroom. Oppressive political systems depend upon participants who are not aware of each other’s essential humanity. Dewey (1916) argued as much in his insistence on democratic societies as places where citizens engage in direct, face- to- face conversations for the purpose of sharing diverse perspectives. Therefore, the routine of defensive justifica- tion when a scholar explicitly addresses student spirituality is not as much an academic issue as it is a political one that is deeply relevant in democratic education (Lingley, 2014). Mata (2015), in her introduction to her study of spirituality in kindergarten classrooms makes this point strongly: “One of the main purposes of democratic education is to form and guide children to become active participants in society, not only to conform to it, but also to help change and improve it. It is the role of teachers to help their students be the best they can possibly be, to grow into their full human potential, and spirituality is a fundamental component of who these children are” (p. 3).
Abstract The aim of this study is to determine the effect of education on democracy. Regions having developed democracy are the centers of attraction that individuals prefer to live in. From this point of view, the whole society’s benefitting from individual freedom and equality, which are the basic building blocks of democracy, are closely related to the existence of educated individuals who make up that democratic society. Therefore, it can be stated that societies with a high level of education are of a high level of democracy. For this purpose, panel data method was used to measure the effect of education on democracy for high income country group in the period of 1990 and 2015 and the effect of education on democracy was investigated. According to the findings, it was found out that education had a positive effect on democracy. Since the selected country group has a high level of education, the finding reveals the importance of educated individuals for advanced democracy. Therefore, the result of this study supports the view that one of the factors that have a high level of development in high-income countries compared to other advanced democratic also contributes to this study.
Future research should be concerned with aligning empirical data with the spectrum to validate its pertinence and application, and also to validate and confirm its orientation, foundation, and conceptual and theoretical underpinning. Efforts should also be made to sensitize education systems, educators, faculty, students, and others to ways of cultivating conversations, debates, and deliberations to be able to critically situate, contextualize, and address education for democracy, something that is not commonly done within a critical, dialectical, and inclusive framework. Connecting inequitable powers relations interwoven in and through the formal educational experience with the lived realities and experiences of future educators requires a shift in paradigms, a problematization of neoliberalism, an acknowledgement of institutional, systemic, and other inequities, and a desire to not control either the process or the outcome, which poses particular problems for normative structures. Thus, inclusion of diverse, traditionally marginalized groups and an embracing of contempo- rary cultural forces that play a role in shaping debates, identities, and experiences, such as social media, must also be reconciled. The presentation of the Thick- Thin Spectrum for EfD and the Spectrum for Critical Engagement for EfD, in connection with LE, does not guarantee education for democracy but it can help facilitate, we believe, debate and engagement toward addressing some of the fundamental concerns imbued within the context for achieving more thick democracy in and through education.
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Clearly a scientific psychology cannot accept a ‘no go’ area of an internal mind, and it was in this context at the end of the nineteenth century, that the appeal of a new behaviourism began to take shape. Dewey warned against taking the reflex arc as the unit of analysis in psychology (Dewey, 1896/1982). He recognised the need to escape the notion of a soul, or mind in the body. The adoption of the reflex arc was, he thought, a mistaken attempt to replace this dualism with a crude monism. But the separation of ‘internal’ and ‘external’ processes– the former in the nervous system and the latter in the environment – led us away from the unitary and purposeful nature of action. He takes the example of a child being attracted to a candle flame and subsequently being burned by it. To see this as a succession of stimuli and responses is to fragment and disrupt the flow of action. Action is coordinated and only properly understood in a particular context, not as a series of jerky reflexes that are in some way welded together. What happens in the above example is that the meaning of the flame changes for the child. The whole process does not begin with a sensory stimulus. If it begins anywhere, it is with the act of looking. This is an action, an inquiry, and not a matter of a sensation impinging on the body. What develops is not a reflex arc, the welding of a stimulus to a response, but a continuous circuit of sensori- motor action. People are not inert until a stimulus impinges on them. They are, to use Kelly’s phrase, ‘forms of motion’.
Secondly, however, failure in educational research to reflect upon the aims of education and what it means to be and to develop as a person has resulted in a very narrow research programme into learning and curriculum. The philosopher John Macmurray (1957) argued that western philosophy had been misled by Descartes’ Cogito, ergo sum – ‘I think, therefore I am’. Here is the assumption of the thinking person as a spectator of a world separate from the spectator herself, and the educated person therefore as the disinterested examiner of the physical and social worlds. But, argued Macmurray, it would be more correct to say ‘I do, therefore I am’ – far from being the disinterested spectator, I am practically involved in the world and my understanding of it grows through being engaged, pursuing goals at first only vaguely identified, meeting problems. It is through practical experience that we come to make sense of the material world and the personal relations which are the context of our personal development. The American philosopher turned motor mechanic, Matthew Crawford (2009), shows the problems arising from the separation of thinking from doing.
The last chapter of the Citizenship and DemocracyEducation textbook which reminds students about their “duties and responsibilities” makes the domi- nant national civic codes explicit. This chapter inclu- des passages about “our culture,” “cultural values” or “social rules and social order.” The term culture is al- ways referred to as a singular in the Turkish context. There are no references to non-Turkish and non-Mus- lim groups living in Turkey. The textbook refers to prophet Mohammad as “our prophet” (Özpolat 2011, 52) implying that it promotes a notion of culture dis- regarding non-believers and non-Muslims. If citizens- hip education is not simply a matter of knowledge of human rights but also a matter of “how we think about and behave towards others, particularly those who differ from us in their race, religion, class etc.” (Kymlicka 2001, 304), the current citizenship course is far from providing such a perspective to pupils. Given the strong state tradition, difference-blind civic repu- blicanism and many ethno-nationalist practices in Tur- key’s history, the last chapter of the textbook endorses a civic culture which asks for a complete compliance with the dominant national representa- tions. Therefore, the new course, if I employ Bau- mann’s terminology, does not lead students to develop a capacity to take a critical stance either to reject or to conform to dominant representations, but rather asks for an “unreflective patriotism” (Kymlicka 2001, 310) based on a one-dimensional reading of na- tional history. This is not, however, possible in Turkey any longer in the face of increasing demands of non-Turkish and non-Muslim groups for their rights to equal citizenship. Recent developments in Turkey de- monstrate that there is a huge discrepancy between the current social/political developments and the pro- gramme of the new Citizenship course.
In this section I discussed different deliberative democratic accounts: the ‘epistemic’ account, the ‘procedural’ account and the ‘substantive’ account. I showed that these different views resemble the division between instrumentalist and non-instrumentalist accounts of democracy. Identifying the differences among these accounts is important in order to understand why one deliberative democrat will value some deliberative principles more than other principles. One should remember, however, that these different approaches are not mutually exclusive, and indeed many deliberative democrats support and combine elements from all of the three different accounts. We can understand now why including diaspora people in deliberation processes in the kin-state may improve the legitimacy of the final decisions. From a procedural view, the process will be more legitimate if people who will be affected by a decision take part in the process of deliberation that precedes it. From an epistemic perspective, including a group that may add different considerations and viewpoints increases the chances that the ‘right’ decision will be taken. This is especially true in cases that have relevance to diaspora people and may affect their rights and obligations. These advantages will become even clearer in the next section, which will add an international law perspective to the discussion.
At a general level, as is well known, Dewey is skeptical about the distinction between somethingÕs being good in itself and merely instrumentally good, at least if this is more than a functional distinction drawn for a particular purpose. 53 Indeed, he thinks of this distinction as a hangover of a primitive state of society in which slaves did the instrumentally necessary work while a leisured class pursued the good for its own sake. So we shouldnÕt accept a dichotomy between thinking of democracy as good in itself (because it expresses equal respect or allows for the equal contribution of all, as in his democratic ideal [iv]) or as good only for its effects (because it allows for or fosters better epistemic outcomes, for example). The distinction makes sense when identifying and solving problems; that is, from the perspective of particular agents working out what is going on and what to do (if your bicycle breaks you have a problem that needs solving about the instrumental means of achieving the end of getting to work this morning). But the standard of success here is always contextual, as weÕve seen: it solves the problem that is confronted. And our ends (e.g., the value of your being at work) are open to critical appraisal, in part in the light of what we know about the means needed to achieve them. The radical openness of inquiry, spanning means and ends, is set up to avoid the instrumentalism objection.