Education, Liberal Democracy

and Populism

Education, Liberal Democracy and Populism: Arguments from Plato, Locke, Rousseau
and Mill provides a lucid and critical guide shedding light on the continuing
relevance of earlier thinkers to the debates between populists and liberals about
the nature of education in democratic societies.
The book discusses the relationship Rousseau and Plato posited between
education and society, and contrasts their work with the development of liberal
thinking about education from John Locke, and John Stuart Mill’s arguments
for the importance of education to representative democracy. It explores some
of the roots of populism and offer a broader perspective from which to assess
the questions which populists pose and the answers which liberals offer. The
book makes a substantial contribution to the current debate about democracy,
by emphasising the central importance of education to political thought and
practice, and suggests that only an education system based on liberal democratic
principles can offer the possibility of a genuinely free society.
This book is ideal reading for researchers and post-graduate students in
education, politics, philosophy and history. It will also be of great interest to
Educational practitioners and policy makers.

David Sullivan, prior to his retirement, was Head of the School of Lifelong
Learning and Senior Lecturer in the School of Philosophy and Religion at
Bangor University, Wales, United Kingdom. He has written widely on political
philosophy, philosophy of education and international politics and the second
edition of his Francis Fukuyama and the End of History (jointly authored with
Howard Williams and Gwynn Mathews) was published in 2016.
Routledge Research in Education Policy and Politics

The Routledge Research in Education Policy and Politics series aims to enhance
our understanding of key challenges and facilitate on-going academic debate
within the influential and growing field of Education Policy and Politics.
Books in the series include:

Academies and Free Schools in England

A History and Philosophy of The Gove Act
Adrian Hilton

Risk Society and School Educational Policy

Grant Rodwell

Neoliberalism and Market Forces in Education

Lessons from Sweden
Magnus Dahlstedt and Andreas Fejes

Reforming Principal Preparation at the State Level

Perspectives on Policy Reform from Illinois
Edited by Erika Hunt, Alicia Haller, Lisa Hood, and Maureen Kincaid

Theresa May, The Hostile Environment and Public

Pedagogies of Hate and Threat
The Case for a Future Without Borders
Mike Cole

Teaching History in a Neoliberal Age

Policy, Agency and Teacher Voice
Mary Woolley

Education, Liberal Democracy and Populism

Arguments from Plato, Locke, Rousseau and Mill
David Sullivan

For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/

Routledge-Research-in-Education-Policy-and-Politics/book-series/RREPP
Education, Liberal
Democracy and Populism
Arguments from Plato, Locke,
Rousseau and Mill

David Sullivan
First published 2020
by Routledge
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© 2020 David Sullivan
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asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
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without intent to infringe.
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ISBN: 978-1-138-56929-4 (hbk)

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In memory of my parents, Frederick and Irene Sullivan
Contents

Acknowledgementsviii

Introduction 1

  1 Populism, education and challenges to liberal

order: the crisis of democracy 8

  2 Plato: two philosophies of education? 31

  3 John Locke: a liberal philosophy of education 44

  4 Jean-Jacques Rousseau: education,

Emile and remaking society 70

  5 John Stuart Mill: education and liberty 103

  6 Education in democratic societies 123

Bibliography149
Index157
Acknowledgements

I have benefited greatly from conversations about philosophy, politics and

education with colleagues and students over many years. I would particularly
like to thank Sheila Hughes, Dr Neil Evans, Professor Howard Williams,
Gwynn Mathews, Dr Anne-Marie Smith, Dr Jean Ware, Tony Elliott, Tim
Jepson, Dr Shirley Egley and Ian McGreggor-Brown.
I am very grateful to the editorial team at Routledge for their friendly advice
and proficiency. Chloe Barnes steered the book through its initial development
while Emilie Coin and Swapnil Joshi have provided much guidance and support
in the later stages. I also wish to express my gratitude to Rebecca White for her
skilful copy-editing.
Very special thanks to Dr Lucy Huskinson, Eleanor Huskinson-Smith and
Ludo.
Introduction

On the 3rd December 2018, the Rector of the Central European University
(CEU) held a press conference to announce the decision to move the majority
of the University’s teaching and research from Budapest to Vienna.1 The reason
given was, to many in the Western media and academic community, dramatic
and shocking, though not unexpected. The CEU, an English language graduate
school with an international reputation for the excellence of its teaching and
research in the Social Sciences has a strongly liberal and cosmopolitan ethos.
The Rector, Michael Ignatieff, claimed that the populist Hungarian government
led by Prime Minister Viktor Orbán had sought to undermine academic
freedom in Hungary and had particularly targeted the CEU because its liberal
values were perceived as a threat to the government’s populist policies.
Many commentators believe this dispute is of great importance because it
epitomises the conflict between the established liberal principles which have
dominated discussion of European and North American politics and education
policy since the end of the Cold War and the rapidly growing challenge to
these principles by populists. ‘… [F]or much of the past two years,’ Franklin
Foer writes, in the June 2019 edition of The Atlantic (Foer 2019),

CEU has been the barricades of a civilizational struggle, where liberalism

would mount a defense against right-wing populism. The fate of the
university was a test of whether liberalism had the tactical savvy and emo-
tional fortitude to beat back its new ideological foe.

Any suggestion that the clash between the CEU and the Hungarian govern-
ment is merely a disagreement over local educational arrangements misrepre-
sents the manner in which politics and education are deeply intertwined.
In modern societies of any sophistication and complexity a certain level of
education is required for society and the economy to function and to help
develop and sustain social cohesion and stability. This is well understood in
democratic societies, whose governments regularly stress their commitment to
the ideals of an education system which encourages a shared social identity.
What differentiates liberal democratic societies, such as the United States and
the United Kingdom, from illiberal societies such as China, which has invested
particularly heavily in developing a sophisticated higher education system, is the
2  Introduction
emphasis which liberal education places on encouraging critical thinking and
freedom of expression.
Despite a broad consensus on the importance of education, there is much dis-
agreement about the precise way in which education should function in a demo-
cratic society; a disagreement which reflects a more general debate about the
nature of democracy and about the kind of cohesion democratic governments
should promote. This is not to suggest that political attitudes and policies come
first and educational policies are merely derived from them. The process of educa-
tion, as one generation of children grows to maturity learning about, and learning
to question, the values and beliefs of their society, alters the culture of that society,
often modifying the expectations of how government should function, and even
which specific policies it should promote.2 Because education and political life are
as intimately linked in democratic societies as in any other, the conflict between the
CEU and the democratically elected but self-proclaimed illiberal government of
Hungary highlights this dispute in a particularly dramatic way. The two protagon-
ists represent the contrast between liberal and populist philosophies of education
and politics in strikingly clear ways.
I will discuss the dispute between the CEU and the government of Viktor
Orbán in more detail in Chapter 1 but it is important to step back from current
issues and to emphasise that the essential elements in these arguments are not
new: they draw on ideas that are much older and which resurface frequently,
though often in different guises, in Western culture. The importance of these
ideas – of all ideas – is sometimes disparaged in politics but the language and
concepts which people use to talk about, and act within, political society invari-
ably embody political ideas, even if that is not always realised. Politicians, par-
ticularly those who want to change society and remake it into something better,
do often realise this very well, as do their opponents who are fearful of the
changes proposed, which explains why both the Hungarian government and
their critics see the issue of the CEU as so important.
The significance of ideas, and of how they shape society through education,
is very evident in some of the debates around the presidential campaign and
subsequent inauguration and presidency of Donald Trump. Presidential election
campaigns in the United States invariably attract sophisticated commentaries in
the American media, but the election of 2016 elicited an unusually large
number of discussions of philosophy and of the work of particular philosophers,
despite such apparently abstract and rarefied debates being at variance with the
rhetoric and attitudes of Donald Trump and his advisers.
One of the more remarkable features of this public discussion of philosophy
was an interest in the ideas of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and their alleged influence
on the populist attitudes and policies of the Trump campaign. Articles critical of
Rousseau’s alleged influence, such as Pankaj Mishra’s ‘The Anti-Ēlite, Post Fact
Worlds of Trump and Rousseau’ (Mishra 2016) in The New Yorker and Michael
Gerson’s nationally syndicated opinion piece ‘Trump’s Funeral Oration at the
Death of Reaganism’ (Gerson 2017) led to a robust debate, including a particu-
larly trenchant response to Gerson by the Rousseau scholar David Lay Williams
in the Washington Post (Williams 2017).
 Introduction  3
Nor was Rousseau the only philosopher to be brought into the debate.
­ oncerned by the attacks by Trump and his supporters on experts, which
C
included, along with politicians and Wall Street financiers, liberal intellectuals in
universities and the media, the journalist Andrew Sullivan argued that Plato
offers valuable insights into the importance of skilled and knowledgeable leaders
and the dangers of demagogues misleading the masses (Sullivan 2016).
Liberal critics of Trump, and of populist politicians more generally, might
argue that these ideas are treated as being irrelevant by populists who are anti-
intellectual and dismissive of ideas. One of the most penetrating commentaries
on Trump’s campaign and election is that of James Kloppenberg, the distin-
guished Harvard professor of American intellectual history, a term which itself
would, no doubt, seem suspicious to Trump and many of his supporters. In an
opinion piece for the Washington Post, ‘Trump’s Inaugural Address was a
Radical Break with American Tradition’, Kloppenberg (2017) argues that
Trump offers a negative picture of the United States and, unlike previous presi-
dents, has failed to offer the hope of reconciliation and of working together.
The implication, shared by many, is that Trump, a man with no interest in
ideas, lacks any intellectual foundation upon which to build an optimistic vision
of America’s future.
The op-ed is of necessity a short piece but Kloppenberg has written exten-
sively about the way in which President Obama has consciously drawn on the
American intellectual tradition of Pragmatism in developing a highly articulate
and sophisticated view of American politics and of how to govern.3 Obama, in
Kloppenberg’s opinion, is the most intellectually sophisticated President since
Woodrow Wilson and the contrast with Trump could hardly be greater.
And yet at least some of Trump’s advisers, such as Steve Bannon who is
credited with writing most of the inaugural address which Kloppenberg so
­
much deplores (Wolff 2018: 42–3, 148), have stressed the importance of ideas,
and have consciously sought to challenge the liberal, cosmopolitan, pragmatic
progressivism attributed to Obama. The clash of ideas is reflected in the attacks
by Trump and many of his followers on what they see as a liberal bias in educa-
tion, including elite universities such as Harvard, as well as in publicly-funded
schools. The appointment of Betsy DeVos as Education Secretary in Trump’s
first Cabinet has been widely seen, not least by supporters of DeVos, as an
attempt to change the ethos of educational institutions in the United States.
The appointment of Associate Justices of the Supreme Court who are believed
to be sympathetic to attempts to reverse liberal policies on affirmative action in
recruitment of students to American universities reinforces this perception that
the importance of educational issues in current politics is intimately connected
to broader political issues.
Rousseau and Plato would both agree with this understanding that educational
reform is an essential part of any far-reaching political change. Whether Rous-
seau, let alone Plato, would agree with the values and attitudes of the current
wave of populism is something to be discussed later. Neither of these thinkers
are liberal – a claim that is undeniably true of Plato, more controversially so of
Rousseau – but liberal thinkers also stress the importance of education and two
4  Introduction
of the most historically significant of these, John Locke and John Stuart Mill,
do so in ways that offer both challenges to Rousseau and Plato and powerful
defences of education in a liberal society.

Four thinkers
The central chapters of the book are given over to an analysis of these four
thinkers. They are chosen because of the philosophical depth and power of their
arguments concerning the relationship between education and politics, something
which is reflected in their enormous historical significance in modern Western
thought. What gives the juxtaposition of discussions of their ideas a particular
cohesiveness is the manner in which Rousseau and Mill comment extensively on
Plato, Rousseau, particularly in Emile, engages frequently and critically with
Locke’s Some Thoughts Concerning Education and Mill develops many of
Locke’s liberal ideas in new and more democratic ways.
This is a book about political philosophy and the philosophy of education
and as such is principally concerned with the analysis of ideas. It is important to
try and reconstruct the arguments in order to properly engage with them and to
help understand of how they relate to each other and how in turn they have
influenced contemporary thought. It is impossible, though, to read texts, especially
such rich and complex ones as the Republic, Emile, Some Thoughts Concerning
Education or On Liberty, without bringing our own assumptions and it would
be foolish to ignore commentaries on them. Consequently, I have discussed
competing interpretations where it seems particularly appropriate to do so, but
I have endeavoured to keep the arguments of the philosophers themselves, and
the texts they wrote, at the centre of the discussion.

Four themes
In order to focus on ideas within these writers’ works which are most relevant
to the current debate between liberals and populists I have identified four
themes that will act as threads when discussing their ideas. These are: the role of
education in promoting a stable society, the place of expertise in education and
political life, the significance of critical thinking and the promotion of
autonomy.
The significance of these ideas, and the different ways in which they are
understood by the four thinkers, will emerge in the course of the discussion and
will be analysed in depth in the final chapter but I give a brief overview here.

Education and a stable society

All societies require a measure of stability and consensus in order to function. In
some societies, stability and consensus are enforced by fear or through the
imposition of religious or ideological beliefs, a process in which control of the
education system frequently plays a vital part. Liberal democratic societies claim
to be different in that the stability is based on a consensus which is both voluntary
 Introduction  5
and open to internal revision. Locke and Mill both discuss the implications of
this for education in considerable depth.
One criticism of this liberal approach, which is found in Plato, Rousseau and
contemporary populism, is that this process of constant revision, and the critical
spirit which it encourages, is likely to lead to instability. If children and young
adults are constantly taught to question and challenge prevailing values and
opinions this may well lead to a polarised and adversarial society. An important
liberal response is to argue that a key element in securing stability is through the
encouragement of civility, an idea much discussed in contemporary politics, par-
ticularly in the context of conflicts between liberals and populists. Civility, in
this account, stresses the importance of tolerance for the views of others and the
need to be respectful in debate. To be most effective, the teaching of civility
should be a significant part of education, an idea developed at length by John
Locke, as we will discuss in Chapter 3.
Contemporary populists are often accused of incivility, at least towards those
they regard as members of the liberal elite, whom they consider to be detached
from their own culture. This is linked to the populist wish to promote national
identity as a means of ensuring stability and their argument that education
should teach the importance of patriotism and encourage acceptance of one’s
own community. In this they reflect Rousseau, who emphasises the importance
of belonging to a specific community and who argues that only patriotically-
minded citizens should be allowed to be teachers.
Following the end of the Second World War, fought in part to resist the
horrors perpetrated by proponents of a virulently violent and exclusionary form
of nationalism, liberals have been very critical of nationalism. This in part fuels
the antagonism of many liberals towards contemporary populism but many the-
ories of nationalism in the nineteenth century were based on liberal values.
Mill’s defence of nationality, particularly in Considerations on Representative
Government, coupled with his concerns about the dangers of an illiberal state-
run education system, offers an area for potentially fruitful debate between
­liberals and populists.

Expertise in education and politics

One difficulty with the argument about the need for stability in society is how
to ensure that rulers can be trusted to promote order. How is it possible to
ensure a political stability that is both just and effective? One answer, expressed
powerfully by Plato in the Republic, is to allow only people who are highly
­educated experts to rule.
This hierarchical view of education and society is rejected by liberals such as
Locke and by liberal democrats such as Mill. Populists argue, though, that lib-
erals embrace a belief in expertise that, while not wholly rejecting democracy,
effectively restricts the ability of the people at large to properly participate. This
argument has some plausibility when the ideas of Locke and Mill are examined
in detail, and the ambiguity of their position can be seen in contemporary
­liberalism. But populists, particularly when they exercise political power, as in
6  Introduction
Hungary, are not immune to this criticism, either. All forms of education,
­particularly higher education, are problematic in this view because the know-
ledge and skills acquired often create a gap between a highly educated elite and
those who have not received the same level of education.

Education, politics and critical thinking

Modern liberals, taking their cue in part from Mill, respond to criticisms about
elitism by arguing for the provision of universal education and for this educa-
tion to provide a large measure of training in critical thinking. Populists also
support universal provision of education but argue that an education which
encourages too much critical thinking, or critical thinking of the wrong sort,
may undermine attempts to teach children the norms of behaviour appropriate
to their society and in doing so may undermine national stability and cohesion.
Liberals such as Mill acknowledge that there is considerable potential for
conflict between critical thinking and social stability but argue that this is inevit-
able in a free society. Such conflict may even, Mill claims, be a necessary
­condition of a society being free. Populists who follow arguments set out by
Rousseau contend that duties to the community (often explicitly identified with
a national community) take precedence over individual freedom. Indeed, they
argue, again in keeping with Rousseau, that freedom is only possible when indi-
viduals acknowledge the primacy of the community in moulding and shaping
their values and beliefs. This implies a view of education very different from that
held by liberals like Mill and is in many respects at the heart of the intellectual
disagreement between the CEU and the Hungarian government.
There is another, closely related, issue over the relationship between critical
thinking and education. Illiberal rulers claim to offer stability through order,
and they view education as a means of reproducing the values and beliefs which
sustain that order. Liberals maintain that this amounts to using education as a
form of propaganda and are vociferous in their criticism, but populists argue
that liberals do the same things, merely more obliquely. Teaching the import-
ance of civility, and closely linked concepts such as toleration, as part of pre-
paring people to enter society as responsible citizens, carries the danger, from a
populist perspective, of smuggling a substantive liberal world view into the
­curriculum while appearing to be neutral.

Autonomy in education and politics

‘Autonomy’ and related terms such as ‘liberty’ and ‘freedom’ are often treated
as synonyms, though differences will become apparent in the course of the
book. I favour the term ‘autonomy’ because the concept of autonomy has been
widely discussed in contemporary political philosophy and philosophy of
education.
Autonomy has often been associated particularly with liberalism, and under-
standably so, as liberal political theorists, including Locke and Mill, have developed
versions of the concept into a central theme in liberal thought. For both of these
 Introduction  7
thinkers, autonomy is to be understood primarily in terms of the freedom of the
individual, arrestingly expressed by Locke when he writes in the Two Treatises of
Government that, ‘every Man has a Property in his own Person. This no Body has
any Right to but himself’ (1988, Second Treatise Chapter V, Section 27: 287) and
by Mill when he argues in On Liberty that ‘the sole end for which mankind are
warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of
any of their number, is self-protection’ (Mill CW, XVIII: 223).4
Yet liberals do not have exclusive claims on the concept. If we define auto-
nomy as ‘self-rule’ or ‘self-direction’, populists may also be understood as advo-
cating autonomy. Indeed, much of their political discourse is couched in terms
of the need to free people from various types of oppressive rule, whether from
the tyranny of expert guidance, from the rule of unresponsive internal elites
such as politicians and bankers or by external powers such as the European
Union, international organisations such as the United Nations and international
agreements such as the Paris Climate Treaty.
This suggests that the meaning of the term ‘autonomy’ is highly contested,
and that there are competing and sometimes overlapping uses of the term in
liberal and populist thought. This also has implications for the relationship
between autonomy and democracy. This relationship is a complex one, and
illustrates some of the places where liberal democracy and populism may
­intersect, as well as places where their divergence is particularly strong. The role
of education in promoting autonomy is, from the perspective of the present
argument, of great importance and particularly revealing of these complex
intersections.

Notes
1 A video of the press conference is available online. See Central European University
(2018) ‘CEU – Press Conference, December 3, 2018’, www.youtube.com/watch?v=
c3fObmmlkEk.
2 Beyond education in schools, the work which is carried out in universities as part of
their function as research institutions often has a significant impact both on govern-
ment policies and on the ways in which people in general come to understand the
nature of society.
3 Kloppenberg has written a book length study of Obama’s thought, Reading Obama:
Dreams, Hope, and the American Political Tradition, first published in 2010, and
republished with a new preface in 2012 (Kloppenberg 2012) and a number of later
shorter pieces on the same topic (Kloppenberg 2014; 2016b).
4 Most references to Mill are to his Collected Works and are given in the format CW,
volume number: page number. See Chapter 5, note 1 for further details.
1 Populism, education and
challenges to liberal order
The crisis of democracy

In the early 1990s, when leaders and opinion makers in liberal democratic
­societies were euphoric at the end of the Cold War and the collapse of Com-
munism in the old Soviet Union, fears about the future of liberal democracy
might have seemed absurd (Fukuyama 1989; 1992). At that point in time, its
intellectual pre-eminence seemed unassailable and the educational institutions
of the advanced democracies of the West were confidently expected to reflect
and promote those values, not only internally but also as part of a process of
creating a cosmopolitan, global society. In the closing years of the second
decade of the twenty-first century things seem very different. Liberal democracy
is being challenged geopolitically by the rise of illiberal states such as China and
internally by the growth of populism.
President Trump’s election, the vote in the United Kingdom to leave the
European Union and the rise of governments in Eastern European countries
such as Hungary and Poland which are seen as increasingly illiberal have led
many commentators to argue that liberal democracy is under threat. Some, like
Paul Ginsborg, have argued that it is in crisis (Ginsborg 2008). The title of
Ginsborg’s book, Democracy: Crisis and Renewal, offers hope as well as
warning, but the road to renewal is not clear and may well involve painful
­self-reflection and a willingness to make significant readjustments.
Populism is sometimes linked in the minds of its critics with authoritarian-
ism, and following the election of President Trump a number of commentators
have raised the spectre of the emergence of an authoritarian regime in the
United States. Some, including the Yale philosopher Jason Stanley and former
American Secretary of State Madeline Albright, have even gone as far as arguing
that the Trump administration is paving the way for the emergence of fascism in
the United States (Stanley 2018; Albright 2018), and have expressed their fears
in very strong terms. In response to the rhetorical question of why she thinks it
relevant to discuss fascism so long after the defeat of the Fascist regimes in
1945, Albright writes that ‘[o]ne reason, frankly, is Donald Trump. If we think
of fascism as a wound from the past that had almost healed, putting Trump in
the White House was like ripping off the bandage and picking at the scab’
(Albright 2018: 4–5). That a distinguished figure like Albright would make
such a claim in language as colourful as this is an indication of the heightened
rhetoric that accompanies much of the debate. Seeing the underlying arguments
 Populism, education and liberal order  9
as part of a very long intellectual tradition helps to put such claims in a broader
perspective.
It is sometimes argued that the rise of authoritarianism as a serious challenge
to liberal democracy is apparent in the economic growth of China and the
increasingly successful alternative model it appears to offer to liberal democratic
societies (Runciman 2013: 318–23). The enthusiasm in many Western Univer-
sities for collaboration with institutions in China, based in part on a belief in the
role of higher education in building a more cosmopolitan world (as well as
more pragmatic economic considerations), has increasingly had to come to
terms with confident Chinese academics and politicians whose blend of Confu-
cianism and Marxism reflects a very different view of the nature of education
and of its role in society (Yang 2010; Liu 2012). But this is an alternative to
liberal democracy which does not present the same kind of threat as populism,
not least because the philosophical foundations of the Chinese education system
are so different to those of the West. Consequently, I will not discuss this aspect
of authoritarianism in the book.
There is, though, a quite different problem posed by increasing authoritari-
anism in countries such as Russia and Turkey. Both these countries have experi-
enced a measure of democracy since the end of the Cold War and both share
some Western values. Turkey has many links with Western society and still has
ambitions to join the European Union. Turkish and Russian institutions and
individual academics participate widely in educational projects with European
partners, including schemes such as Erasmus. Russia, since the fall of Com-
munism, has discarded Marxist-Leninism and increasingly argued that, unlike
what it sees as a decadent, secularised West, it is defending Christian values and
Christian civilisation. With their emphasis on the people, on the need for moral
regeneration and strong, charismatic leaders, the governments of these coun-
tries share much in common with populism and are frequently seen as part of
the same broad phenomenon.
One of the most striking aspects of the growth of populism is the way it has
become particularly influential in some of the states of Eastern Europe which
were once part of the Soviet Empire, particularly in Hungary and Poland. These
two countries are by no means identical in their political systems or in the
policies of their governments, but, as we have already seen, one of them,
­
Hungary, provides a particularly striking example of populist opposition to
liberal views of education through its antagonistic relationship with the CEU.

Historical scepticism about democracy

Challenges to democracy, whether internal or external, serve as a reminder that
until recently democracy was viewed with scepticism even in what are now its
strongholds of Western Europe and North America. The threats to democracy in
much of the twentieth century from the challenges of fascism and communism are
a potent recent reminder of these challenges, as in this context are the rise of non-
democratic states such as China. In all these non-democratic regimes, the state has
sought to control education and use it as a tool of social and political coercion.
10  Populism, education and liberal order
If we consider that one aspect of democracy is that of empowering the mass
of the people, an idea that is central to populist thought but also an important
part of liberal democratic theory (although liberals may offer a somewhat
different definition of ‘empowering’ and ‘the people’), the reluctance by liberal
writers such as Locke to embrace democracy is not altogether surprising, even
from the perspective of well-established democracies such as the contemporary
United Kingdom or United States. Referring in particular to the horrors of the
sixteenth century wars of religion, the savagery of the English Civil Wars and
the barbarism of the Thirty Years War, James Kloppenberg stresses a factor
which has implications still for how democracy is viewed by conservative and
authoritarian critics.

Such abominations left a legacy of fear, suspicion and hatred; not only were
people willing to die for their beliefs, they were willing to kill for them.
Apprehensions provoked by democratic revolutions in Europe and North
America … must be understood in the context of profound cultural anxi-
eties concerning the balance between the desirability of empowering the
people and the very real dangers of zealotry.
(Kloppenberg 2016a: 11–12)

The idea that education might be a means of overcoming this savagery is a

powerful response to such fears, and helps to explain why democrats like John
Stuart Mill argue that providing a well-balanced education for all children is
essential to the development of a healthy democratic society. In different ways,
all four of the thinkers discussed in this book believe that a properly functioning
education system can help to create a society where people can live in a measure
of harmony rather than a condition akin either to Hobbes’ state of nature or to
the rule of his absolutist sovereign (Hobbes 1996). But their contrasting views
of what education would be best, to whom it might directly apply and how it
might fit into a broader understanding of society, is itself illuminating.
In order to conduct a fruitful discussion of the relationships between liberal
democracy and populism and their relationship to education, it would seem
reasonable to begin by trying to clarify the meaning of the terms ‘liberal’ and
‘populist’. This is not entirely straight forward, and a clear sense of the terms
used is not always apparent either in academic literature or in more popular
writings. Given the ways in which the concepts change over time, including,
particularly in the current incarnation of populism, a very short space of a few
years, this is not altogether surprising.
Robert Dahl, in his seminal A Preface to Democratic Theory, acknowledges
that ‘[o]ne of the difficulties one must face at the outset is that there is no
democratic theory – there are only democratic theories’ (2006: 1). The same
may be said of liberalism. But at least advocates of democracy and liberalism
have developed theories to be discussed. Populism is more problematic because
there is no comparable body of theories which are explicitly populist, even
though Rousseau’s writings offer searching discussions of some themes that
have become central to much later populist thinking. In suggesting working
 Populism, education and liberal order  11
definitions of the two terms in this chapter I will pick out some of the main
ideas in each approach, but a danger is that this runs the risk of offering defini-
tions that are either too broad or too one-sided. It is in part to address this last
problem that Chapters 2 to 5 examine the work of each of the four thinkers in
sufficient detail to allow a proper examination of how each understands the key
ideas, or earlier precursors, and their relationship to education. Doing so is
intended not only to provide detailed concrete examples of some of the most
powerful versions of these theories but also to show how the use of these con-
cepts in current debate draws on much older concepts in Western political
thought. I will argue that only by examining these concepts in the context of
the work of the four major thinkers it is possible to properly draw out both the
ambiguity and some connecting strands in the underlying concepts.

Liberalism
Two uses of ‘liberalism’
The term ‘liberalism’ often has different connotations depending on whether it
is used in Britain or America. In political debate in the United States, the term
is usually used to describe people who believe in the need for a strong state to
provide welfare and other benefits to the population. It refers broadly to ideas
associated with the Progressive Movement in the United States in the first part
of the twentieth century, identified particularly with the presidencies of Theo-
dore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft and Woodrow Wilson, and the writings
of Pragmatists such as John Dewey – the ideas which Kloppenberg, as we noted
earlier (p.  3), believed had such a profound influence on the thinking of
President Obama – and which in turn influenced the New Deal policies of
Franklin D. Roosevelt.
In the classical British liberalism of Locke and Mill, by contrast, there is greater
fear of the dangers posed by the state, a concern also apparent in earlier American
liberals such as Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. This earlier version of liber-
alism does not necessarily preclude state intervention in some aspects of welfare.
Mill was highly critical of the economic inequalities of his own day and thought
that government had a duty to correct some of them, but concern about an over-
bearing state is a constant theme in Mill’s work as it is in classical liberalism gener-
ally. In what follows, I will begin by sketching out some of the key themes in
­liberalism as defended by Locke and Mill, though during the course of the book
it will become clearer that there are differences between them and that liberalism
itself is far from a homogeneous body of thought. In a theory which prizes debate
and critical analysis so highly it would be surprising if it were otherwise.

The moral primacy of the individual

The most fundamental principle of liberalism is that of the moral primacy of the
individual. In Locke’s case, as in much twentieth and twenty-first century liber-
alism, this is partly expressed through a theory of human (or, in Locke’s phrase
12  Populism, education and liberal order
‘natural’) rights. These are rights which are not granted by the state but are part
of human nature – in Locke’s version they are given by God (Locke 1988:
Second Treatise, Chapter II, Sections 4–6, 269–71). This is not to deny that
there are significant differences between Locke’s concept of natural rights and
twenty-first century concepts of human rights, including disagreement over
what count as rights and differing accounts of how rights might be justified.1
What they do have in common is the belief that people have a moral right to be
respected as ­ individuals and that states have an obligation to treat them
accordingly.
Because liberals stress the freedom of the individual they seek limits on the
power of the state. In Locke’s version this is justified in terms of a social
­contract. Under the terms of the contract, people living in a state of nature
give up some freedoms in return for the security which a government can
provide, but the scope of government power is limited by its obligation to
respect and uphold the rights of its citizens (Locke 1988: Second Treatise,
Chapter VII, Sections 89–93, 325–8). Many more recent liberal writers also
use variations of social contract theory, from Kant to John Rawls (though
both refer to a hypothetical, rather than a historical, contract) and it remains
an influential strand in liberal theory. Mill does not base his liberalism
on social contract theory but also argues that there should be strict limits on
the way in which the state may legitimately restrict the freedom of the
individual.

The rule of law

Liberalism is thereby opposed both to absolutism and to arbitrary government.
One of the most important ways of restricting the power of government is
through the impartial rule of law. In a law-governed society, attempts at arbit-
rary government can be resisted by appeals to the law and an independent judi-
ciary. But both Locke and Mill are aware of the dangers of extra-legal activities
on the part of the government. Locke, writing in the midst of the political
upheavals of late Restoration England, argues that if a government becomes
tyrannical, to use his term, those who are oppressed have a right to rebel and
overthrow the tyrant, by force of arms if necessary (Locke 1988: Second Trea-
tise, Chapter XVIII, Section 209, 404–5). Mill, living in the more settled polit-
ical society of Victorian England, is more concerned with a different kind of
tyranny – the threat to individual liberty posed by an intolerant majority of the
population (Mill CW, XVIII: 218–23).
One consequence of the liberal desire to restrict the power of government is
that both Locke and Mill are opposed to a state funded education system with
the power to determine what education all children should receive. The
problem is particularly acute for Mill because of his belief in the importance of
universal education, as will be discussed in Chapter 5. His concern is that such a
system could very easily become a means of indoctrination and would create a
society in which everyone would be taught to think in the same way and critical
thinking would be discouraged.
 Populism, education and liberal order  13
The development of liberal ideas
Another important element in liberalism is a belief in the progressive
­elaboration and unfolding of liberal values. Two examples may be used to illus-
trate this: the development of liberalism to the point where it comes to reject
ideas of racial inferiority and its gradual recognition – strongly supported by
Mill – of the equality of women and men. This does not necessarily mean that
liberals believe that there are no universal moral truths. Locke is very clear that
there are – an argument which he bases on his belief that there is a moral law
given by God (Locke 1988: Second Treatise, Chapter II, Section 6, 270–1).
Mill’s position also seems to imply that there are universal principles such as the
principle of liberty, though Isaiah Berlin argues in ‘John Stuart Mill and the
Ends of Life’ that, at least implicitly, Mill is committed to the view that there is
no single set of moral principles to which we can unproblematically apply
(Berlin 1969b).
Liberals recognise the importance of education in helping to explore and
articulate the new insights and draw practical implications for education policy.
Two of these are particularly relevant to our discussion. The first is that students
of all ages should be provided with the critical skills to judge the emerging
values and play a part in discussing, criticising, defending and, where appro-
priate, applying them. The second is the liberal belief in the particular role of
universities as places where there are the resources, in terms of such assets as
teachers, libraries and seminar rooms, to creatively focus on these ideas. Alfred
North Whitehead once remarked that universities might have a role analogous
to monasteries in the Middle Ages, of preserving Western culture in a dark and
hostile world2 and there may be at least some echoes of that need in the con-
cerns some liberals have over populist disdain for experts of all kinds. Some
populists might reply that universities are exactly the kind of out of touch elite
institutions which they so dislike, and much of whose work goes against the
grain of the straight-forward thinking of sensible people. We will take this point
up again later but, to return to Whitehead’s metaphor, monasteries were indeed
an important element in the preservation of Western culture, but they were not
impartial in their assessment of what was important and valuable and nor are
universities. It is a long time since Fellows of Oxbridge colleges were required
to take holy orders (Locke struggled for many years to avoid doing so in
Restoration England) but the debate both about the nature and limits of
­academic freedom and genuinely open debate is far from over.
The idea of liberal values as constantly developing raises a problem about
what is to be taught in a liberal society. It might be argued that a liberal educa-
tion ought to focus on developing critical skills and enhancing the autonomy of
the student. But while these are important elements in a liberal theory of educa-
tion, they are not sufficient in and of themselves. Locke and Mill both argue
that it is important that students learn some basic principles of morality, the
observance of which by its citizens enables the society to function peacefully
and with a measure of harmony. If these values change rapidly, and especially if
a large number of people within the society feel alienated by the displacement
14  Populism, education and liberal order
of one set of values by another, social harmony will be in danger of breaking
down. This danger of disruption and alienation in liberal societies is one of the
features that is criticised by populists, and the fear and uncertainty caused by
attacks on traditional values and practices is perceived to be a major reason for
the growth of support for populism.3
This idea of development is also linked to a view which came to prominence
in liberal thought during and after the Second World War. Liberal philosophers
such as Karl Popper and Isaiah Berlin were concerned with the dangers posed
by anti-liberal regimes which based themselves on the belief that they had, in
Popper’s phrase, a blueprint for social change which if adhered to would bring
about a just society. Popper and Berlin both referred to this view as ‘utopian’
and Popper argued in the first volume of The Open Society and Its Enemies
(Popper 1945) that Plato’s philosophy was at the root of this flawed, dangerous
and profoundly illiberal view of society. Berlin proposed a similar argument but
developed it in a different way in his influential essay ‘Two Concepts of
Liberty’. For Berlin, such utopian schemes are bound to fail because basic
values most revered in a liberal society, such as liberty and equality, are often in
conflict with each other. There simply is no way of reconciling the conflicting
effects of these values.4 Although Berlin claims that this understanding, which is
the basis of the view he ascribes to Mill in ‘John Stuart Mill and the Ends of
Life’ (Berlin 1969b), does not amount to moral relativism, such arguments are
seen by populists as implying precisely that. This relativism, they argue, means
that liberal education policies, with their emphasis on critical thinking and indi-
vidual autonomy, leave students confused and uncertain, lacking the intellectual
and moral strengths needed to contribute positively to a stable and cohesive
society.
It is possible, of course, to argue that a liberal society ought to encourage
children to acknowledge these conflicts and to think critically about how to deal
with them while accepting that, for example, both liberty and equality are inher-
ently good values. But if this view is expressed at a time of rapid social change,
when long-held views are being called into question or even quickly repudiated,
it can be very difficult to maintain a sense of social cohesion, especially when
large numbers of people think that ‘their’ traditional values are being discarded
by an out of touch elite.

Cosmopolitanism
This leads to a further element in contemporary liberalism which has an
important place in the debate between liberals and populists and has a particular
significance in their accounts of education. This is the idea, already mentioned
in passing, of cosmopolitanism, an idea which in its modern form developed
during the eighteenth century Enlightenment and was given powerful expres-
sion in Kant’s Essay on Perpetual Peace (Kant 1991: 93–130). Cosmopolitanism
is the view that there are universal moral values which should be recognised and
honoured in all societies and that while we have on-going duties to our own
families and local communities we also have strong, and sometimes overriding,
 Populism, education and liberal order  15
obligations to all other members of humanity as well. Contemporary cosmopolitans
such as David Held, who draws upon Kant’s work, regard nationalism with sus-
picion, support transnational organisations such as the United Nations and the
European Union and favour open borders and cross-border migration (Held
2006: Chapter 11).
With regard to education, cosmopolitans argue that children and young
people should be taught to regard themselves as citizens of the world, rather
than as exclusively citizens of particular countries. So education from a cosmo-
politan perspective is not seen as a means of defending and reinforcing the
values, or even identity, of a particular community but as developing a sense of
belonging to a global community: an education for global citizenship.  Held
argues that the idea of a citizenship of the European Union which sits alongside
(and may one day replace) citizenship of particular member countries, and
which may in turn prepare the way for citizenship of a global community is one
example of this (Held 2006: 304–8). It may well be that the nation state will be
the focus of primary loyalty and provider of primary needs, including education,
for some time to come (Held 2004: 58) but the long-term hope for humankind
is the gradual emergence of a global identity and global community.

Populism
Defining populism
In a new Preface to his influential book The Populist Persuasion, first published
in 1995, Michael Kazin points out the awkwardness of applying the term popu-
lism during the 2016 United States Presidential primaries to both Donald
Trump and Bernie Sanders, whose views on politics, society and economic are
radically different. In a similar fashion he notes the oddness in applying the term
to European politicians as diverse as Viktor Orbán and Jeremy Corbyn, the
leader of the British Labour Party (Kazin 2017).
The problem in usage, particularly in an American context, arises in part
from the history of populism and the changing perceptions of historians and
political theorists. The People’s Party which emerged in the United States in
the late nineteenth century was initially characterised by liberal historians as a
populist left-wing party committed to the defence and expansion of workers’
rights; in European terms as a social democratic, rather than revolutionary
socialist, party. This interpretation of the Peoples’ Party as progressive was
challenged by the liberal historian Richard Hofstadter (Hofstadter 1955) in
the mid-twentieth century who, while acknowledging the grievances of those
the Peoples’ Party claimed to represent, read back into the party all the
dangers which had been apparent in the right-wing mass movements in
Europe and the United States in the 1930s. In the words of Nils Gilman: ‘For
mid-century liberals like Hofstadter, populism meant the street level of mobi-
lizations of Italian fascism, the torch-lit rallies of Nazi Germany, and the
malevolent crowds of the anti-New Deal America First movement’ (Gilman
2018: 39). Hofstadter’s perception of populism was also coloured by the fact
16  Populism, education and liberal order
that he was writing at the time of Senator Joe McCarthy’s rabble-rousing
reactionary demagoguery, which many of McCarthy’s critics saw as an expression
of populism.
Hofstadter’s view was challenged at the time by C. Vann Woodward (Vann
Woodward 1960: Chapter 7) and gradually an understanding of the social
democratic nature of the populism of The Peoples’ Party was re-established
through the work of historians such as Lawrence Goodwyn’s The Populist
Moment (1978), Kazin’s The Populist Persuasion (2017) and Charles Postel’s
The Populist Vision (2007) (see Gilman 2018: 39). This longer historical per-
spective from which Hofstadter’s criticism is now seen, and the help it provides
in the seeing more clearly the way in which his ideas were influenced by the
times in which he lived, ought to encourage contemporary writers on populism
in their efforts to be self-reflective. A recent example of how hard this is to do
can be seen in the use of term ‘populism’ in Jeffrey Rosen’s discussion of the
contrasting attitudes to the American Presidency by Theodore Roosevelt and
William Howard Taft in William Howard Taft (Rosen 2018). Rosen character-
ises Taft, the only person to serve as both President of the United States and as
Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, as a constitutionalist who
believes that the rule of law under the United States Constitution ought to
form the basis of good government and who is opposed to the direct, unreflec-
tive expression of public opinion. As Rosen says, he was certainly not opposed
to democracy as such but, like the authors of The Federalist Papers (Madison,
Hamilton and Jay 1987), he believed that the will of the people should be
­filtered through institutions which would allow time for measured and considerate
judgment about issues (see for example Rosen 2018: 131). Rosen contrasts this
with the ‘populism’ of Theodore Roosevelt, citing his argument for ‘pure
democracy’ in a speech, ‘A Character for Democracy’, delivered as he was
preparing to stand against Taft for nomination as the Republican Party
­
­candidate in 1912:

Roosevelt endorsed a series of populist reforms, including elected state

judiciaries, presidential primaries based on ‘direct nominations by the
people’ and direct election of U.S. Senators, adding ‘I believe in the initi-
ative and the referendum, which should be used not to destroy representa-
tive government, but to correct it when it ever becomes more
misrepresentative’.
(Rosen 2018: 94–5)

Rosen’s characterisation of Roosevelt as a populist is unusual and this, along

with his sympathetic defence of Taft’s Constitutionalism, is strongly influenced,
as he acknowledges, by recent events such as the Brexit referendum in the
United Kingdom and the populist presidency of Donald Trump (Rosen 2018:
133, 136–7). This example, like that of Hofstadter, illustrates the difficulty in
avoiding contemporary categories when viewing the past. It also highlights the
difficulties in using ‘populism’ as a term in analysing contemporary movements
and individuals.
 Populism, education and liberal order  17
Unsurprisingly, the meaning of the term ‘populism’ is the subject of much
debate both in academic writing such as the excellent overviews by Jan-Werner
Müller What is Populism? (2016) and Cas Mudde and Cristóbal Rovira Kaltwas-
ser’s Populism (2017) as well as more general discussions of populism in relation
to the current crisis of democracy, including Paul Ginsborg’s Democracy: Crisis
and Renewal (2008), David Runciman’s The Confidence Trap: A History of
Democracy in Crisis from World War I to the Present (2013) and Francis Fukuy-
ama’s Identity: Contemporary Identity Politics and the Struggle for Recognition
(2018b) and in the high quality journalism that overlaps it such as Fareed Zaka-
ria’s ‘Populism on the March: Why the West is in Trouble’ (2016) and The
Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad (2007) and John
B. Judis’ The Populist Explosion: How the Great Recession Transformed American
and European Politics (2016). To this list of works largely critical of populism
may be added the last book by one of the late twentieth century’s most signi-
ficant political thinkers, Samuel Huntington’s Who Are We: America’s Great
Debate (2004). This book, which was much criticised on its publication, is
unusual in that it offers a serious, sustained defence of some of the central ideas
associated with contemporary populism. I will refer to it a number of times in
the following chapters.
I will take as a starting point of a working definition the characterisation of
populism by Mudde and Kaltwasser as

a thin-centred ideology that considers society to be ultimately separated

into two homogeneous and antagonistic groups, ‘the pure people’ and ‘the
corrupt elite,’ and which argues that politics should be an expression of the
volonté générale (general will) of the people.
(Mudde and Kaltwasser 2017: 6;
Mudde and Kaltwasser 2013: 498; cf. Mudde 2004: 543)

This definition has the benefit of emphasising what many take to be the prim-
arily negative nature of populism, as a critical attack on the political, economic
and educational status quo. The inclusion of the phrase ‘thin-centred ideology’
(which was absent from Mudde’s earlier version of the definition, see Mudde
2004: 543) captures a feature arising from this negativity; that populists often
disagree strongly among themselves on what they are aiming to replace the
current order with. It also, very importantly, highlights the importance of a
concept drawn from the writings of Rousseau, that of the general will, which
will be discussed in detail in Chapter 4. To this initial definition of populism
may be added Müller’s claim that while versions of contemporary populism in
Europe and North America are not anti-democratic as such, many are seen by
their critics as anti-pluralist and illiberal (Müller 2016: 6).
Much of the current debate in Europe and the United States centres on what
is usually referred to as right-wing populism and that will be the focus of the
book. Although there are left-wing versions of populism (notably the self-­
identifying work of Laclau 2005, 2006; Mouffe and Errejon 2016) these do not
currently present the most forceful challenges to liberal democracy. Nor is a
18  Populism, education and liberal order
defence of nationalism an important part of the argument of left-wing
­populism, whereas it is extremely significant in what are most often regarded as
right-wing populism, such as that of Trump’s slogan Make America Great Again
(MAGA) and the Fidesz government in Hungary.5 If we take Kazin’s two
examples of left-wing populists, Sanders and Corbyn, both are internationalists
who are strongly opposed to the kind of nationalism advocated by Donald
Trump or Viktor Orbán.
With this in mind we can outline some of the important strands of this
­populism: the general will, the people, the criticism of elites, the need for the
purification of society and the importance of the nation.

The general will

Discussion of the general will is sometimes conflated with another idea often
appealed to by populists, that of the will of the majority. Rousseau certainly did
not equate the general will with the will of the majority, but contemporary
populism sometimes does seek to identify the will of the majority with the
general will, or ‘the will of the people’, particularly when expressed as the result
of a general election or a referendum. The result of the British referendum in
2016 has been seen in these terms by those in the United Kingdom who
advocate leaving the European Union. Following Robert Dahl this may be
­
characterised as ‘the attempt to identify democracy with the unlimited power of
majorities’ which he regards as a defining characteristic of what he refers to as
‘populistic democracy’ (Dahl 2006: 35).
The distinction between the general will and the will of the majority has
significant implications for education. If, as in the case of the United Kingdom,
for example, referenda are a last resort, a means of resolving major constitu-
tional issues where the citizens of the country, including members of the
­government and opposition are deeply divided, it might be argued that the
most appropriate education system is one based on liberal principles such as
critical analysis, toleration and civility. The last two are particularly important
because the decision arrived at in the referendum is not the will of the people as
a single body but of the majority of the people, sometimes, as in the case of the
referendum on Britain’s membership of the European Union, a slim one. It is
important to stress this because of the need to recognise that while the divide
within a country on a particular issue may be deep, on many other issues there
may be little disagreement, or, frequently, either no clear majority or a majority
composed of different people.6
A society governed by the general will, by contrast, is one in which the exercise
of independent critical analysis is subordinated to the deeper insight of the people.
As a consequence, civility need not be extended to those who persistently oppose
these insights. Such an approach requires a very different education system, one in
which the need to reinforce the values of a stable society take precedence over the
encouragement of critical thinking or individual autonomy. A (rather more subtle)
version of this view of the relationship between education and the general will is
advocated by Rousseau and will be discussed at length in Chapter 4.
 Populism, education and liberal order  19
The people
Mudde and Kaltwasser draw attention to the importance of ‘the people’ in their
definition of populism, and the previous paragraphs (p.  18) provide examples of
its  use. Populists use this term a great deal to refer to those who they believe
express the genuine values of the community and, who, because they give expres-
sion to the general will are, therefore, the source of legitimate authority in the
state. Liberals often either avoid the term altogether, other than to criticise the
populist use of it as divisive, or use it in a very general, and often cosmopolitan
way. This is problematic because the term ‘the people’ is used in many of the
founding works of liberalism, among them the document so often appealed to
against the alleged threat to American democracy by populist appeals to the
people, the Constitution of the United States with its opening phrase, ‘We the
people’. Liberals, just as much as populists, have a concept of ‘the people’. Part of
the reason for this reverence liberals and populists share for the importance of the
people, however differently they understand the term, is that, as David Polansky
writes, ‘[i]n a sense, popular sovereignty—the idea that the people are the ultimate
source of political authority—is the locus of modern politics’. He also makes a
crucial point when he argues that the concept of the people ‘grounds the nation-
state, which remains the dominant political form in our world’ (Polansky 2018).

Elites
One of the reasons why populists appeal to the idea of the people is to differen-
tiate them from members of elites who are allegedly out of touch with the true
values of society and consequently cannot reflect the general will. Populists criti-
cise groups such as professional politicians, intelligence agencies and senior
military personnel over actions like the Vietnam War and the Second Gulf War
and professional politicians and bankers over the financial crisis of 2008.
Such criticisms might be seen as part of the healthy scepticism which a demo-
cracy requires of its citizens.7 However, a closely related populist claim goes
beyond scepticism about particular policies and actions and claims that ‘the people’
have been coerced into accepting the economically and politically unjust system
under which they live. This, it is argued, has been accomplished through a variety
of methods, including a media, owned and controlled by members of elite, which
constantly provides a misleading view of reality: not just individual items of ‘fake
news’ but a systematically false world view. Most important for our present pur-
poses is the argument that the media is underpinned by an education system
designed to perpetuate the power of the elite, which it does in two ways. The first
involves providing a superior education for the children of the elite, equipping
them with high level knowledge and skills, and often encouraging them to think of
themselves as primarily citizens of the world. The second element in this hierarchi-
cal education system involves a lower tier of education which indoctrinates the
great majority of children with a false understanding of the world, designed to
keep them in subordination. In this way education plays an extremely important
role in perpetuating inequality in society.
20  Populism, education and liberal order
The purification of society
Commentators on populism often argue that it is a phenomenon which has
emerged within democratic societies as a reaction to some of the perceived
problems of liberal democracy, such as the power of unrepresentative and
uncaring elites. Müller makes this point forcefully:

The danger to democracies today is not some comprehensive ideology that

systematically denies democratic ideals. The danger is populism – a
degraded form of democracy that promises to make good on democracy’s
highest ideals (‘Let the people rule!’). The danger comes, in other words,
from within the democratic world – the political actors posing the danger
speak the language of democratic values. That the end result is a form of
politics that is blatantly antidemocratic should trouble us all.…
(Müller 2016: 6)

There is a good deal of truth in what Müller says here, but the contrast he draws
is too broad because there may be situations where differences between liberals
and populists are a legitimate part of democratic debate. His argument that ‘the
end result’ of populist promises ‘to make good on democracy’s highest ideals’ is
‘a form of politics that is blatantly anti-democratic’ certainly has some plausibility
but it is too strong to claim that this is an inevitable part of populism. It is really
an aspect of a particular strand in populist thought which may indeed be dangerous:
the belief that in order to make society just it has to be purified.
At its strongest, the idea of the need to purify society seeks to transform it
into something not simply more just, but just by a different order of magnitude –
a society cleansed of those elements which corrupt and debase its people, and
which prevent them living harmonious and contended lives. Populists who
make this claim not only wish to criticise the allegedly corrupt elites which
govern their societies but also foreigners whose presence as settled inhabitants
threatens to undermine the integrity of the community. There are echoes of this
idea in the Trump administration’s policy on migrants from some Moslem
countries and from Central America and the policies of the governments of
Hungary and Poland towards non-Christian immigrants.
This idea of the purification of society has many echoes in Western civilisa-
tion, but it is evident in Rousseau’s work and has its roots in Plato. It is a
potent factor in the attempt in the early modern period by both Protestant and
Roman Catholic churchmen to use the power of the state to suppress heresy,
but it can also be seen in secular forms such as the attempt to impose virtue
during the French Revolution or in the zeal of Fascist and Communist regimes
to purge society of its critics and remake its citizens as new men and women.
What they all have in common is a rejection of liberal values, particularly the
value of pluralism. And for all their differences in religious and ideological
views, they share a belief that the control of education is a vital tool in imposing
their will on society. As will be argued in Chapters 2 and 4, Plato and Rousseau
both think that education is a key to the purification of society.
 Populism, education and liberal order  21
Nationalism
These ideas have clear connections in the modern world with certain forms of
nationalism and part of the concern liberals have expressed over the success of
populism over the past few years has been the use by populist politicians of rhet-
oric that incorporates the language of nationalism. Putting ‘nationalism’ and
‘purification’ in the same sentence immediately, and rightly, rings very serious
alarm bells. Nazism carried to its most hideous extreme the belief that preserva-
tion of national identity required the purification of society and I referred earlier
to the claims of writers such as Stanley (2018) and Albright (2018) that the
nationalism of populist movements such as that associated with MAGA risks
creating something similar today.
For a long period after the end of the Second World War it was believed,
particularly in Western Europe and North America, that as democracy and
material well-being spread nationalist sentiment would disappear. The hope that
nationalism would lose its hold on the imagination of the people of the various
European states was very understandable in the post-war world and inspired
men such as Jean Monet to create the institutions which would later develop
into the European Union as a bulwark against the re-emergence of national
assertion and aggression. The European Union’s emphasis on education
exchanges and partnerships between individuals and institutions in the member
states as a means of fostering trans-European values is an important element in
this.
The belief in the permanent demise of nationalism has become increasingly
difficult to sustain as an account of how the world is, as opposed to cosmopol-
itan desires of how it should be, and we seem to have reached what Ghia Nodia
has recently called ‘The end of the postnational illusion’ (2017). Nodia argues
that the contemporary wave of populism has encouraged what he refers to as
the third wave of nationalism (Nodia 2017: 11). The links between nationalism
and populism are apparent particularly in populist objections to the large-scale
immigration of people who do not share the same culture. The theoretical
underpinning for this lies in the idea of ‘the people’, who make up the true or
original inhabitants of society or the nation. In both cases, the concept of the
general will as expressing the values of the society or nation is a central idea.
This has very important implications for education. Benedict Anderson
writes in Imagined Communities, his ground-breaking book on the study of
nationalism, that the growth of mass education, often funded and guided by the
state, played a major part in creating a sense of national identity in nineteenth
century Europe (Anderson 1983). Populist nationalists today, such as Donald
Trump or Viktor Orbán, argue that they face a different situation where mass
education has long been guided by a cosmopolitan elite who decry much of
their own history and culture and advocate replacing them with liberal prin-
ciples which ignore or undermine national values and identities. Reclaiming
education for the nation thus becomes an important part of populism, which is
why the appointment of someone like Betsy DeVos as President Trump’s Sec-
retary of Education and the Hungarian government’s criticism of the CEU, far
22  Populism, education and liberal order
from being peripheral matters, reflect values and beliefs which are at the heart of
populist agendas for government.
It is important to point out, though, that there are varieties of nationalism
that its advocates regard as being inextricably linked to liberalism and liberal
democracy. Indeed, in the nineteenth century, nationalism was most often asso-
ciated with liberalism, a position exemplified in the writings and political prac-
tice of the Italian nationalist Mazzini. Contemporary writers such as John B.
Judis (2018) and Francis Fukuyama (2018a; 2018b), both of whom are critical
of much about populism, nevertheless see a recognition of the potential over-
laps between liberalism and some forms of nationalism as an important counter
to populist nationalism. In arguing this way, they are effectively echoing not so
much Mazzini’s liberal nationalism in his The Duties of Man (1907) which ulti-
mately prioritises nationalism over liberalism, but a widely held interpretation of
John Stuart Mill’s defence of nationalism which holds that national identity
might, as a matter of contingent, historical fact, form the basis of a settled com-
munity within which liberal ideas can flourish. Mill’s discussion of nationality
(to use his term) in Considerations on Representative Government (1865) is
rather more nuanced than this but, as we will see in more detail in Chapters 5
and 6, is important both in the context of the development of Mill’s own rela-
tionship to nineteenth century liberal thought and in relation to the nationalist
strand in twenty-first century populism.

Populism and liberalism

The argument that the most fundamental part of the threat to liberal democracy
is at the level of a challenge to its values by alternative values found, among
other places, in the writings of Rousseau and their influence on later populists,
might suggest, as many discussions of liberal democracy and populism do, that
liberalism and populism are binary opposites. Some critics of populism do not
go this far but suggest instead that it is either a deviation from liberal demo-
cracy or that it represents an immature version of it. The deviation interpreta-
tion is perhaps reflected in Müller’s description of populism as the shadow of
liberal democracy (2016: 101). The immature version is well captured by
Francis Fukuyama during a discussion of democracies at an early stage of their
development. In such circumstances, he argues, they sometimes embrace a
‘spoils’ system to help reward supporters before the society develops a more
sophisticated and ethical framework. Fukuyama refers to, among others,
Andrew Jackson as an example of a practitioner of such as system: a president
who Steve Bannon has suggested offers a close parallel to Donald Trump, and
whose portrait currently hangs in the oval office (Fukuyama 2014: 140–3).
These views all suggest that populist democracy is inferior to liberal demo-
cracy. It may be, though, that populism represents an alternative understanding
of democracy which, particularly under certain circumstances, may offer an
important counterbalance to limitations within liberal democracy. In this
context, a distinction needs to be made between populists and more radical
critics of liberal democracy such as Karl Marx. Marx regards liberal democracy
 Populism, education and liberal order  23
as merely a mask for concealing the oppression of one class by another, and
argues throughout his writings for the overthrow of liberal democratic institu-
tions in favour of a political system based on the dictatorship of the proletariat.
By contrast, populists do not want to replace democratic institutions but
capture them for their own purposes. In particular, although they may have
reservations about some of the restrictions imposed by liberal principles such as
respect for minorities or, more particularly, tolerance for those who dissent
from what they understand to be the fundamental values of society, populists
do regard elections as a vital means of legitimising government.
Indeed, taken by themselves, many of the strands which contribute to a
populist perspective are unremarkable in a democratic society. Distrust of
experts, for example, is not unusual, nor is it restricted to those who might be
classed, fairly or unfairly, as people lacking in specialist expertise. This is appar-
ent in the way that experts in one area may be disdainful of experts in another,
as neuroscientists are often dismissive of psychoanalysts, or natural scientists
such as physicists or chemists often reject the claim to scientific rigour of social
scientists. With respect to practice based on expertise in politics or economics,
or in the practice of social work, it is often considered part of a healthy demo-
cracy that the theory and practice of these experts should be sufficiently trans-
parent for active citizens who take an interest in such matters to be able to offer
reasonable and practical criticisms.
Despite these comments about areas of overlap it remains true that there are
substantial differences between liberal democracy and populism which go
beyond mere political styles or stances. The basis of these differences is to be
found particularly in the contrast between the conflicting views of society and of
the role of the individual. Educating people for their role in society is crucial to
both these approaches and to see how different in principle, and on occasion in
practice, these are it will be helpful to turn to return in greater detail to the
­conflict between the populist government of Hungary and the liberal CEU.

Populist versus liberal education: the case of the CEU

For several years the populist-nationalist Hungarian government led by Prime
Minister Viktor Orbán has been in conflict with the CEU, an institution
founded on avowedly liberal and cosmopolitan principles and which has been
based for many years in Budapest. I will use this as a case study to help clarify
some of the ways in which liberals and populists disagree over the nature and
purpose of education. I will not discuss at this point the merits and demerits of
the two sides but use the arguments each make as examples of how liberal and
populist approaches to education differ from each other. This is particularly
important because, as discussed previously (p.  10), there is very little in the
way  of positive articulation of contemporary populist theory in general and its
attitude to education in particular. This is not to say that all populists will agree
with every aspect of Orbán’s education policy, nor that all liberals would agree
with all the educational policies of the CEU, but their relative positions do
show the broad areas of policy differences which populists and liberals would
24  Populism, education and liberal order
take. Drawing out some of these broad areas will help guide the discussion in
the following chapters.
The dispute, and the larger political issues of which it is a part, has been the
subject of intense debate in the Western media, much of it highly emotive.
­Following the CEU’s initial public announcement on 1st November 2018 that
it was transferring most of its teaching and research from Budapest to Vienna,
the Washington Post reported the decision under the headline ‘Soros-founded
University Says it has been Kicked out of Hungary as Autocrat Tightens his
Grip’ (Witte 2018). The headline captures some of the drama of the confronta-
tion and also highlights the two most important figures, George Soros and the
allegedly autocratic Orbán.
The CEU was founded in 1991, in the aftermath of the fall of the Berlin
Wall and the collapse of Soviet control over its empire in Eastern and Central
Europe. It had wide-spread support both in the region and elsewhere from
intellectuals and politicians, including the then President of Czechoslovakia
Vaclev Havel, and with funding from the Soros Open Society Foundation. At
Havel’s invitation the University was first based in Prague but it moved in
1993 to Budapest. In the following years the University developed a global
reputation for the quality of its reaching and research, being placed in the
top 200 universities by QS in 2017, where it is also rated at equal 42 for
Politics and International Studies.8 It is a graduate level institution with
­
some 80 per cent of its courses, including Gender Studies, a subject of which
the Hungarian government strongly disapproves, validated by Bard College
in the state of New York and the remainder by the Hungarian Ministry of
Education.
Following the end of Soviet rule Hungary adopted a democratic government
and cemented its break with Russia and identification with the West by joining
the European Union and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. In 1998
Fidesz, in alliance with the Christian Democrats, won the general election and
Viktor Orbán became Prime Minister. Fidesz and their allies lost the election to
the Socialist Party in 2002 and again in 2006 but were returned to power in
2010, 2014 and 2018, each time gaining, in alliance with their junior partners,
a supermajority of seats in the Hungarian parliament which allowed them to
make changes to the Constitution.
Orbán first came to prominence as a distinguished and courageous dissident
against the old Soviet-controlled Communist governments of Hungary.9 To his
critics this makes all the more surprising his subsequent emergence as the leader
of a populist nationalist governing party and even more his outspoken criticisms
of liberal policies, particularly on immigration. In a speech at the 25th
Bálványos Summer Free University and Student Camp in 2014, widely reported
and much discussed in the Western media, he claimed that his government was
building an illiberal society.10
Orbán argues that there are three great moments of change in the twentieth
century – the end of the First World War, the end of the Second World War
and the collapse of communism. We are now in the midst of a fourth such
change which became dramatically apparent during the financial crisis of 2008.
 Populism, education and liberal order  25
When he attacks the liberal world view in his speech, he is referring primarily to
neo-liberal economic policies which were in the ascendant before 2008.
He claims that many individuals and institutions which were proponents of
neo-liberalism have come to question some of its basic tenets. Referring to criti-
cisms by the then United States President Barack Obama, and others, of the
neo-liberal economic system he argues that they suggest the need for a more
national economic system. He claims that forces that were once seen as condu-
cive to freedom have changed, and cites as an example the internet, which ‘has
been colonised by large corporations’ which he claims are threatening the
neutrality of the internet.
Neither of these criticisms would be particularly alarming – or even novel –
to many left-wing Western liberals, though some might be less happy with his
approving reference to another analysts’ attack on the decadence of much
Western life in which he argues that ‘the strength of American soft power is in
decline and liberal values today embody corruption, sex and violence, and as
such discredit America and American modernisation’, nor to his approval of the
then British Prime Minister David Cameron’s defence of Britain’s Christian
identity.
But there are implications in what Orbán says that go beyond purely
­economic issues. John O’Sullivan seeks to defend Orbán by arguing that he is
not attacking liberalism as such but a new system which is gradually replacing
‘old-fashioned majoritarian democracy’.

This system is one in which ‘rights’, devised and enforced by courts and
international agencies, are placed beyond the control of elected parliaments,
so that over time the voters lose influence over how they are governed.… A
better name for it would be ‘undemocratic liberalism’.
(O’Sullivan and Pócza 2015: xviii)

But this interpretation is undermined by Orbán’s argument that the primary

purpose of the state is ‘to make a nation and community internationally
competitive’, and that the most successful models of how to do this are the
non-liberal and, as he admits, in most cases non-democratic states of Singapore,
China, India, Russia and Turkey.
Orbán goes further in a direct attack on a major liberal principle which forms
the heart of John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty, that ‘the sole end for which mankind
are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of
action of any of their number, is self-protection’.
‘The principle around which Hungarian society is organised’, Orbán contends,
‘should not be that everything is allowed that does not infringe on the other
party’s freedom, but instead should be that one should not do unto others what
one does not want others to do unto you’. This, he claims, should be a funda-
mental principle of Hungarian society and central to the education it provides.
In language that we will find anticipated in Rousseau, Orbán argues that ‘the
Hungarian nation is not simply a group of individuals but a community that
must be organised, reinforced and in fact constructed’. And so in this sense,
26  Populism, education and liberal order
the new state that we are constructing in Hungary is an illiberal state, a
non-liberal state. It does not reject the fundamental principles of liberalism
such as freedom, and I could list a few more, but it does not make this
ideology the central element of state organisation, but instead includes a
different, special, national approach.

Since the second victory of Fidesz in 2012 the CEU has come under intense
pressure by the Hungarian government to modify what it teaches to bring it
into line with the nationalistic education system of Hungary as a whole. One of
the chief criticisms levelled against the CEU by the Hungarian government is
that its teaching reflects a liberal cosmopolitan perspective that is widespread in
Western European and American universities and which undermines commit-
ment to the particular intellectual and cultural traditions of Hungary. Stefan
Roch quotes the historian and Orbán supporter Mária Schmidt’s criticism that a
liberal open society “would require Europeans to sacrifice the remnants of their
identity at the altar of openness and renounce everything that made them what
they are” (Roch 2018: 56).
This criticism is overly harsh but in its Mission Statement, the University
does emphasise its explicitly liberal and cosmopolitan approach to education. It
acknowledges that its ‘distinctive educational program builds on the research
tradition of the great American universities’, as well as ‘on the most valuable
Central European intellectual traditions’, and it claims that one of its great
strengths lies in ‘the international diversity of its faculty and students …’. It
refers to ‘its own history of academic and policy achievements in transforming
the closed communist inheritance’ and in doing so proclaims that it is ‘com-
mitted to promoting the values of open society and self-reflective critical think-
ing’. To underline its mission as a cosmopolitan University it argues that the
‘CEU is a new model for international education, a center for study of con-
temporary economic, social and political challenges, and a source of support for
building open and democratic societies that respect human rights and human
dignity’.11
What is important here is the criticism that notwithstanding its claim to
openness, the CEU is consciously offering a set of values which it acknowledges
is central to its mission and which in a sense transcends the values of the nation
where it happens to be situated. Except, of course, the CEU does not just
happen to be situated in Eastern Europe, it was created and placed there for a
reason, namely because of a wish to see the ex-Communist countries of Eastern
and Central Europe become liberal democratic societies with a pronounced
cosmopolitan attitude. That may be a wholly laudable ideal, but it is an ideal
which the Hungarian government clearly believes is problematic because, in its
view, the CEU undermines the primacy of national values.
These pronounced differences between a liberal and a populist help to explain
the four ways mentioned earlier (pp.  4–7) in which liberals and populists dis-
agree over the role of education in society. These are, the role of education in
promoting a stable society, the place of expertise in education and political life,
the encouragement of critical thinking and the promotion of autonomy.
 Populism, education and liberal order  27
On the role of education in promoting a stable society, the populist view
understands this primarily in terms of defending the values of the nation, with
its distinctive traditions and values.12 The liberal view contends that the most
stable society is one in which students are taught the principles of liberty which
are universal. The CEU at its inception took this a stage further when it
declared that its purpose was to train leaders who would guide the transition of
the newly free countries of central and eastern Europe to liberal democracy. Stefan
Roch argues that this was very close to the Platonic view and suggests that
although the CEU has shifted its policies to a more open, enquiring view of
society, the tension remains (Roch 2018: 52–7). This criticism of the ambiguity
in the liberal position is by no means new and in Chapter 3 we will discuss
­criticisms of Locke’s liberal theory of education along these lines.
This leads on to the second issue, of the place of the education of experts in
a democratic society. Some liberals, such as George Soros, believe that it is
necessary to train certain people to guide the rest of society. In this, as we shall
see, they echo a central argument of Plato’s; that ruling is a skill like any other
in which people can and should be trained.13 They also argue that the principles
which should guide this training are universal liberal values, and that educa-
tional institutions should be internationalist in outlook. The CEU claims this as
an explicit part of its mission, and regards the recruitment of scholars and stu-
dents from many different countries as an important means of achieving this.
Populists like Orbán do not disagree that certain kinds of experts are useful in
society but they differ in that they think – and in this they follow a different
point of Plato’s – that experts should be grounded in the culture of their own
society so that they can apply their skills in a way that is in harmony with the
interests of society. We will see in Chapter 4 that this is also Rousseau’s view,
and that Rousseau believes that teachers should be drawn only from the country
in which they are citizens.
It is not surprising given their differing views of stability in society and exper-
tise that populists and liberals will disagree over the role of critical thinking in
education. Populists are not necessarily opposed to critical thinking as such,
what they are opposed to is an education process (or individual teachers) who
encourage a negative attitude towards the fundamental values of their own
society. As we have already seen, liberalism is sometimes torn, as the CEU is,
between its founding principles and its current mission, between an education
which aims to train people to be good liberal leaders and citizens and one which
encourages open-ended criticism.
It might be thought that liberal education is superior to populist education
because it promotes autonomy by prioritising the values associated with indi-
vidual freedom. But the meaning of autonomy is not so straightforward as this
claim would suggest. We will leave aside, for the present, the element in liberal
thought which aims to train people to become good liberals,14 the idea which
the CEU was originally designed to implement. The contemporary CEU is
closer to the position of liberals such as John Stuart Mill, who place the greatest
importance on individuality and the right to choose how to live one’s own life.
Mill’s view is summed up in the phrase from On Liberty which Orbán singles
28  Populism, education and liberal order
out for criticism: ‘the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually,
or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is
self-protection’ (Mill CW, XVIII: 223). As one consequence of this principle,
Mill argues that education provision should be as diverse as possible and that
there should be no state-regulated curriculum. It is not surprising that, in lan-
guage that we will find anticipated in Rousseau, Orbán attacks this principle in
his speech of 2014, arguing that instead the guiding principle should be the
good of the community.
On this understanding we are free only in so far as we are part of a just com-
munity. This leads to the view that the ideal education is not one that, as Locke
argues, promotes the independence of the individual but one which, in Rous-
seau’s words in Considerations on the Government of Poland, seeks to ‘give souls
the national form, and so direct their opinions and their tastes that they may be
patriotic by inclination, passion, necessity’ (Rousseau 2019b: 193). The con-
trast could not be starker, either between Locke and Rousseau or the govern-
ment of Viktor Orbán and the values of the CEU. Nor is this the only example
of such opposing views. As we will see in what follows, these differences lie deep
in the history of Western culture.

Three points of clarification

Before discussing the four thinkers it will be helpful to clarify three general
points about the purpose and aims of the book.
First, this is a book about the broader political and philosophical aspects of
education. It does not offer detailed suggestions on the curriculum or on the
organisation of educational institutions. Rousseau may be appealed to in part in
justification of this approach – in the Preface to Emile (1979) he argues that
there are two things to consider when trying to understand the nature of educa-
tion. The first is whether the fundamental principles underlying the analysis is
correct, the second is how those principles might be put into practice. The
methods of application, he says, will differ considerably from place to place and
between different groups in society, and have to be worked out in detail by
those who have a knowledge of and interest in those particular circumstances.
There will be occasions during the course of my argument where I will disagree
with Rousseau, but on this point he is, I think, correct.
Second, I have already referred on a number of occasions to the historical
context in which these philosophers wrote and I will do so again in the follow-
ing chapters. Two things need to be said about this. I do not wish to argue that
we can find straightforward parallels between contemporary events and those of
the past, and the currently popular attempts to explain contemporary populism
by reference to the 1930s in Europe often give rise to more misunderstanding
than clarity. I do, though, argue that looking at past responses to particular
issues – especially when they are of as searching a nature as Mill’s analysis of the
growth of democracy and the threat of popular threats to individual liberty –
can help provide valuable perspectives on the present. Nevertheless, it is the
philosophical rather than the historical which is my primary concern.
 Populism, education and liberal order  29
The final point is that I have tried to follow the principle of charity in assessing
the arguments of the various authors whose work I discuss. That is to say,
I have taken as a working hypothesis that each of these thinkers should be read
as having produced coherent bodies of work which should be treated seriously.
This is not meant to suggest that there are no inconsistencies or bad arguments
in their work. What it does imply is the need to read the texts in what Rousseau
describes as ‘good faith’ (Rousseau 1960: 11) and to take seriously a comment
of Mill’s, born as is Rousseau’s comment, out of exasperation with critics who
impugn the worst intentions: ‘There is no difficulty in proving any ethical
standard whatever to work ill, if we suppose universal idiocy to be conjoined
with it …’ (Mill CW, X: 224). Reading and listening to the arguments between
liberals and populists, one quickly becomes aware how lack of good faith and
strident accusations are all too prevalent.

Notes
  1 On some problems associated with giving insufficient attention to the historical con-
texts in which different uses of the term ‘rights’ are used see Moyn 2010; Moyn
2014. Mill does not appeal to a concept of rights but does argue for the moral
primacy of the individual.
 2 Whitehead’s sentiments are not as backward looking as the analogy might at first
make them seem. The comments are made in the context of universities needing to
adapt and become more open to a much wider variety of people than hitherto (they
were written in 1941). He refers particularly to London University’s innovative
attempts to meet the needs ‘of artisans seeking intellectual enlightenment, of young
people from every social grade craving for adequate knowledge’ and characterises the
dismissive response to such aspirations by traditionalists in Oxford and Cambridge as
‘ignorant contempt’ (Whitehead 1941: 14). The relationship between widening
democratic participation and opening up access to education at all levels is one that
will be discussed in more detail later, particularly in Chapters 5 and 6.
 3 Mill thinks that times of intellectual change may provide great opportunities for
­societies to advance morally and politically – see Chapter 5 of this volume.
  4 ‘Two Concepts of Liberty’, delivered as his inaugural lecture as Chichele Professor of
Political Theory at Oxford in 1958 is reprinted in Four Essays on Liberty (Berlin
1969a) and in Liberty (Berlin 2002) This liberal pluralism is a central theme in
Berlin’s writings and continued to preoccupy him throughout his life – see for
­
example, ‘The Pursuit of the Ideal’, first published in 1988 and reprinted in The
Crooked Timber of Humanity (Berlin 1990b). Michael Ignatieff, the Rector of the
CEU, is the author of the authorised biography of Berlin in which he provides a
detailed analysis of Berlin’s argument (Ignatieff 1998: 225–9).
  5 Federico Finchelstein has argued that treating populism as a European-North American
phenomenon risks losing sight of some important aspects of the movement
­(Finchelstein 2017). I agree with his point as a commentary on general historical or
sociological discussions of populism but my focus is narrower than this. I discuss
populism as a phenomenon in established European and North American demo-
cracies (including the ‘new democracies’ which emerged in Central Europe after the
end of the Cold War) and its relevance to the educational systems of those countries.
I certainly agree that a study of education, liberal democracy and pluralism in other
parts of the world, particularly Latin America, would be very valuable, but that would
require another book.
  6 The classic argument for this view of shifting majorities and alliances within society,
the basis of what was later termed pluralism, is James Madison’s in The Federalist
Papers, Number 10 (Madison, Hamilton and Jay 1987).
30  Populism, education and liberal order
  7 It might, of course, be pointed out that some of the most incisive criticisms of these
events has come from experts who disagreed with the actions taken – such as Hans
Morgenthau and Michael Walzer over the conduct of the Vietnam War (Scheuerman
2009: Chapter 6; Walzer 1977/2015) and the Neo-Realist foreign policy experts
such as John Mearsheimer who took out a full-page advertisement in the New York
Times on 22nd September 2002 to warn against the invasion of Iraq.
  8 QS Top Universities (2017) ‘Politics and International Studies’, www.topuniversities.
com/university-rankings/university-subject-rankings/2017/politics
  9 For a discussion of Orbán’s role in the peaceful overthrow of Communism in 1989
and his subsequent rise to power see Paul Lendvai’s critical biography Orbán Europe’s
New Strongman (2017) and, for a more sympathetic account written after his elec-
tion victory in 2014, the collection of essays edited by John O’Sullivan and Kálmán
Pócza, The Second Term of Viktor Orbán: Beyond Prejudice and Enthusiasm (2015).
Péter Krekó and Zsolt Enyedi offer an illuminating analysis of what they term
‘Orbán’s Laboratory of Illiberalism’ (Krekó and Enyedi 2018) and his problematic
relationship with democracy. They argue that ‘Orbán’s political character cannot be
understood apart from the logic of competitive electoral politics …’ and that while
the methods he uses ‘are often nondemocratic … the logic of his behavior is quintes-
sentially competitive….’ and that he is ‘at home with democratic electoral contests’
(Krekó and Enyedi 2018: 43). Norman Stone provides a deeper background to the
rise of Orbán in his Hungary: A Short History (2019: Preface and Chapter 8,
­especially 230–44).
10 The speech is available at the Hungarian government website, see Website of the
Hungarian Government (2014) ‘Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s Speech at the 25th
Bálványos Summer Free University and Student Camp’, www.kormany.hu/en/the-
prime-minister/the-prime-minister-s-speeches/prime-minister-viktor-orban-s-speech-at-
the-25th-balvanyos-summer-free-university-and-student-camp. All quotations from the
speech are taken from this source.
11 Central European University (date unknown) ‘Our Mission’, www.ceu.edu/about/
our-mission
12 See Orbán’s comments on education in his State of the Nation Address in 2017:

It is also good that children are entering the nursery school education system at
the age of three, and that the state is paying for school meals and textbooks. But
in the meantime are we raising them to love their homeland, to be patriotic and
to have a patriotic frame of mind? Will Hungary be their shared passion, as it is
ours? Will they too have a sense of national justice, which is fuelled by patriot-
ism? Will they understand that the only way we can avoid being the slaves of
other peoples – and the only way we can remain an independent nation – is if,
first and foremost, we declare ourselves to be Hungarian? These are all things
that we should take care to teach children in school, because it is only through
this that our children can understand what links and binds us together.
(the full speech is available at Viktor Orbán (2017)
‘Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s State of the Nation Address’,
www.kormany.hu/en/the-prime-minister/the-prime-minister-s-speeches/
prime-minister-viktor-orban-s-state-of-the-nation-address-20170214)

13 There is a certain irony in that Soros himself is deeply influenced by Karl Popper who
was highly critical of Plato. What this shows is not any double-thinking on Soros’
part but the complexity of the interpretation and application of sophisticated ideas
such as Plato’s.
14 This rather negative way of putting it is rather unfair, and as we will see, Locke has a
good argument against the views underpinning what could be taken as a rather snide
remark, but it is worth expressing it this way here to show that there is at least a
problem for an important aspect of a liberal theory of education.
2 Plato
Two philosophies of education?

Plato and skilled experts

In his Republic Plato sets out a long and detailed argument in favour of a
strong, stable society ruled by experts as the only possible basis for a truly just
society. In this society critical thinking is to be banished, as is any notion that
individual members of society should strive for personal autonomy. One of the
chief ways in which this society is to be established and maintained is through a
highly selective and rigidly controlled education system.
It might seem out of place in a book on education, liberal democracy and
populism to devote a chapter to Plato, who was implacably opposed to demo-
cracy and was neither a liberal nor a populist. Plato claims that democracy is the
worst form of government other than tyranny, and, moreover, that it paves the
way for tyranny (Republic 564a).1 The most desirable, as we will see, is rule by
the wise whose decisions should never be discussed, let alone dissented from, by
the great majority of people.
Despite this attack on democracy, Plato’s political philosophy, and especially
his view of the central importance of education in creating a just political society
is fundamentally important for our discussion. This is partly because of the place
of Plato’s thought in Western society since the Renaissance. Plato’s philosophy
of education and society has been frequently rejected in modern liberal demo-
cracies, but that is a very recent phenomenon; for much of the last four centu-
ries his ideas have been directly or indirectly very influential. Two of the other
three writers we are discussing, Rousseau and Mill, regard Plato’s discussion of
the role of education in society as of the first importance, and both claim to
have been deeply influenced by him.
I have already alluded in the Introduction to a second reason for discussing
Plato at some length, which is that his work contains arguments which resurface
in contemporary discussions of democracy. One of these is the way in which
some democratic opponents of populism, such as Andrew Sullivan (2016),
appeal to Plato’s argument of the need for wise rulers to guide the less enlight-
ened majority. This view is widely rejected by current populists who disparage
experts and out-of-touch elites, but it is far from new. It has an eminent
­antecedent in Mill’s appeal to Plato during the course of his claims for the
importance of experts in a liberal democratic society.
32  Plato
There is also a quite different way in which an aspect of Plato’s thought is
reflected in the populist argument for the need to transform society by
appealing to a deeper understanding of justice. Although populists do not
­
directly derive this idea from Plato, it is a prominent feature of Rousseau’s
­interpretation of Plato, as will be discussed further in Chapter 4.
This point about how one reads Plato, and the contradictory ways in which
he is read by philosophers as sophisticated as Mill and Rousseau, is a reminder
that interpreting Plato is no easy matter. This is in part because almost all of
Plato’s extant works are dialogues, with the ambiguity that type of writing
entails. To this is added the enormous weight of scholarly discussion over the
past two and a half millennia, from Aristotle to the present day. In view of this I
will indicate two principles which I have followed in my discussion of Plato.
The first is that there are a number of key themes in the Republic over which
there is widespread (though by no means universal) agreement, two of which
are especially significant for our present discussion. The first of these is the
theory of ‘Forms’, in which Plato argues that there are universal truths which
can be discovered by reason, though only after a long and arduous period of
study stretching over many years. The second is the claim that only a society
ruled by philosophers, who alone are sufficiently highly educated to learn the
Forms, can be just – and that democracy, which is the rule of the masses, must
invariably be unjust. The widespread acceptance of these and related themes is
central to what is often referred to as Platonism, or as the traditional interpreta-
tion of Plato (Fronterotta 2010: 136). Most importantly, for our present pur-
poses, this reading of Plato has been the one which people have often
attempted to relate to the education and politics of their own day and as such
provides a focus for the discussion of Plato’s view throughout the book. Rous-
seau is a prime example of a major philosopher who seeks to embrace and apply
Plato’s ideas, as we will see in detail in Chapter 4, but the influence is apparent
too, though in a different way, in Victorian thinkers and reformers like Benja-
min Jowett and George Grote, who will be discussed in Chapter 5. Mill rejected
some of these ideas as inappropriate (or just downright dangerous) but also
thought that something of great importance could be found in the Platonic
­dialogues and in the teachings of Socrates and especially his method of a radical
and ‘liberal’ Socratic Method.
The other principle concerns the relationship between the Republic and the
discussion of education and politics in two other Platonic dialogues, the States-
man and the Laws. The Statesman was written some time after the Republic and
the Laws was, according to the current scholarly consensus, the last of Plato’s
works. Some writers have argued that the views of the Statesman and the Laws
supersede those of the Republic – this was Jowett’s view, for example (Plato
1875), and also the view of the eminent modern Plato scholar Julia Annas
(Annas 1995). Others have suggested that the two later dialogues merely
expand on the ideas of the Republic without undermining them (Laks 1990;
Rowe 1999; Schofield 2016). This interpretation is reflected in my occasional
references to the Laws, particularly in Chapter 4 in relation to Rousseau’s
reading of this work. The main focus in this chapter is, though, on the Republic
 Plato  33
because of its great influence on thinking about, and practising, education in
the Western world.
Although I will refer to some contemporary scholarly discussions about the
interpretation of Plato, I will particularly focus on the ways in which Rousseau
and Mill, analysed, criticised and used Plato’s arguments. Locke wrote little
about Plato whereas Rousseau and Mill, by contrast, both claimed to have been
strongly influenced by Plato, despite their interpretations of what was important
and significant in his work differing sharply. These differences of interpretation
are not inconsequential and reflect in part their very different views of education
and democracy.

Plato and democracy

The Athenian society in which Plato lived was a democracy, in which all citizens,
meeting face to face in the Assembly, participated in the discussions over all
important policy matters and voted upon them. Compared with modern liberal
democracies that of Athens had its limitations. Women played no part in the
democratic process as only men could be citizens – Plato is very unusual as an
Athenian who rejected the idea that women could not be rulers (Republic
540c–d) – and the Athenian economy rested on slavery. Yet Athenian democracy
may, from a different perspective, be seen as more democratic in some respects
than modern liberal democracies because of the direct involvement of all citizens
in decision making (Arblaster 2002: Chapter 2). The claim that all citizens should
be entitled to have a direct input into decisions is one populists often make.
Plato was neither a liberal nor a democrat. It is sometimes argued that Plato
could not have been a liberal because liberal ideas, such as John Locke’s defence
of natural, or human, rights or John Stuart Mill’s advocacy of the principle of
liberty would not have made sense either in the context of the way democracy was
practised in Athens or, more generally, in terms of the concepts and structure of
Greek political thought. That argument has been challenged by Thomas Mitchell,
who provides powerful evidence to show that democratic Athens, both under
Pericles and after the restoration of democracy following the fall of the Thirty
Tyrants,2 espoused a set of values which would have been recognised as liberal by
liberal philosophers such as Mill. The ideals of democracy which first emerged in
Athens, Mitchell argues, entailed ‘a new vision of the state as a community or
partnership of political equals, equal in freedom, equal in political rights, equal in
justice under a communally sanctioned rule of law …’ (Mitchell 2015: 4). He also
argues that there is a ‘striking ethos of Liberalism’ in Pericles’ Funeral Oration, as
recorded by Thucydides in The Peloponnesian War. The

… leitmotif is freedom, not only the freedom of that bestowed legal and
political equality; but a freedom that permeated the entire life of citizens,
public and private. It was a freedom that respected a right to a private space
and private possessions. It also protected freedom of speech, which was
deemed essential to the functioning of the democracy.
(Mitchell 2015: 69)
34  Plato
As Mitchell acknowledges, this is a controversial interpretation, but as we will
see in Chapter 5, Mill explicitly draws parallels between the liberal values, as he
interprets them, of ancient Athenian society and his own liberalism.3
However one assesses the evidence for a liberal ethos in Athens there is no
doubt that Plato could have been a democrat. The Athens in which he wrote
the Republic was, as Paul Cartledge argues, the most radical of the several
hundred democracies which had existed among the Greek city states over
several hundred years (Cartledge 2016: 145–6, 199–202). It is in part for this
reason that his argument in the Republic for a hierarchical society based on the
rule of a highly educated elite and for the rejection of democracy as anarchic
(Republic 558c), presenting as it does a fundamental challenge to the demo-
cracy of his own society, Athens in the fifth century bc, also retains the power to
unsettle and challenge advocates of both liberal and populist d ­ emocracy in the
twenty-first century.
Plato’s criticisms of Athenian democracy lead directly to his challenge to
another Athenian view of the time, that the education of children was largely a
private matter. This practice was in direct contrast to that of Sparta, Athens’
great rival ideologically as well as militarily, which was resolutely anti-­
democratic and where education was rigorously controlled by the state. Plato
was an admirer of Sparta and his argument that the state should take full and
exclusive responsibility for education would have been greeted with consider-
able suspicion by most Athenian citizens. Rousseau, as we will discuss in
Chapter 4, defended Plato and argued that Spartan education at its best was
superior to that of Athens.

Education and expertise

The central problem to be resolved in the Republic is: ‘What is justice?’. This is
not meant to be construed primarily in terms of political institutions or laws but
rather what leads us to consider someone a just person. It is easier, though,
Socrates tells his interlocuters, to see justice on a large scale first (in the state)
and then having seen the large picture (or read the larger writing, as he puts it)
to understand what justice is in the individual (Republic 368c–69a).
According to Plato, a just society would be divided into three groups of
people. Following a well-established convention by modern translators and
commentators I will refer to these as three classes, though this notion of class is
quite distinct from modern Western notions of class based on economics. The
three classes are the philosopher rulers, the soldiers (often translated as the aux-
iliaries) and the rest of society, the workers, which make up the largest
group. The society is to be governed by the wise philosophical rulers who have
a ­ profound knowledge of timeless, universal values, or Forms (Republic
504d–511e).4 This understanding is required in order to provide the philo-
sopher rulers not only with a clear understanding of the true nature of justice in
society but also what would be required to achieve it (Republic 427c–34c). By
contrast, the great majority of people are incapable of achieving such under-
standing and are, therefore, incapable of making rational decisions about how
 Plato  35
society should be governed. Plato stresses that those who are to become rulers
need to be educated to develop the skill of ruling – they need to become
experts in government. It would be just as absurd, he says, to allow people to
rule a city if they lack the necessary skills, based on many years of study and
practice, as it would be to permit sailors who lack the skills to steer a ship to
­overthrow the trained pilot and take control themselves (Republic 488a–89a).
Those young men and women who display the potential to become philo-
sopher rulers are to be selected for a long and rigorous education in order to
prepare them for their duties. The remaining members of society should receive
a far more rudimentary education to prepare them for work in trades such as
farming, commerce and manufacturing (Republic 373d–6e, 473d–4c). Plato
stresses that the members of this large majority, who would have formed the
ruling group in a democracy, would be incapable of benefitting from higher
education and would be far happier receiving an education tailored to their par-
ticular skills and abilities. Having completed their education, they would gladly
spend their lives honing and developing their skills in activities that best suited
their character and intellect. This explains why, in Plato’s opinion, the Athenian
democracy of his day, in which all citizens directly participated in the major
decisions of state, so often lurched from crisis to crisis and why there was so
much social injustice. What else could one expect when the mass of the people,
wholly untrained for government and dissatisfied with their lot in a society
which failed to provide them with an education suited to their needs, were
given the opportunity to exercise power?
Almost all of Plato’s discussion of education in the Republic concerns the
education of the auxiliaries and the philosopher rulers but it is worth pausing
for a moment to look more closely at the situation of the remainder of the
population. A common criticism is that these people have no choice in what
occupation they are to follow, nor in the education that is intended to prepare
them for that role in society. Karl Popper claims that this is an example of what
he describes as the totalitarianism, of the Republic (Popper 1945: 86–7).5 It is
possible to look at this in a more positive way, as John Dewey does in
­Democracy and Education where he writes that it

would be impossible to find in any scheme of philosophic thought a more

adequate recognition on one hand of the educational significance of social
arrangements and, on the other, of the dependence of those arrangements
upon the means used to educate the young. It would be impossible to find
a deeper sense of the function of education in discovering and developing
personal capacities, and training them so that they would connect with the
activities of others.
(1916: 56)

Although Dewey argues that Plato was unable to see the wide range of possibil-
ities open to each individual,6 his reading of Plato highlights the problem of the
enormous waste of potential when children are offered no clear guidance on
what is best suited to their talents and abilities or support in how to achieve this.
36  Plato
This lack of guidance might be the result of an overemphasis on encouraging
children to discover things for themselves; Dewey, as we will see in Chapter 4, is
critical of what he regards as Rousseau’s excessive concentration (at least in
Emile) on the self-discovery of the individual child. It may, though, be due to
less benign and more impersonal forces in the form of a lack of resources to chil-
dren in economically deprived conditions. It is a criticism of Locke that he
largely ignores the plight of the poor in this regard, though his historical context
makes such attitudes at least understandable.7 Nineteenth century educational
reformers such as Jowett seek to use Plato’s argument as justification for the pro-
vision of elite education, and although Mill does not share all their prejudices
(least of all in the case of education for women), he does not fully embrace an
egalitarian education system. In offering the possibility of a more equitable
system Dewey illustrates the potential in liberal thought and practice for critical
reflection and the development of new insights.
The discussion of the education of the auxiliaries and the philosopher rulers
in the Republic is divided into two sections. The first, in Books II and III, dis-
cusses the education of those selected to become auxiliaries. The second, which
takes up most of Book VII, is concerned with the education of those auxiliaries
who have been identified as having the temperament and intellectual skills to
receive higher education, with the aim of their becoming philosopher rulers.
An important feature of the education of the auxiliaries is that they are closely
guided and monitored in what they learn and that their reading of poetry and
their exposure to other types of artistic expression, including what is for Plato the
extremely important element of music, are heavily censored. Poets are permitted
in the Republic only if they write according to standards set out by the philo-
sopher rulers and will, therefore, present a positive and ennobling view of the
world. This censorship extends beyond the formal education of the auxiliaries to
control over the artists who should also be guided in what they produce (such as
buildings and sculpture) so that their products reflect what is good and decent
rather than what is bad and unseemly (Republic 401b–c). Later in the Republic,
Plato argues that the skilled carpenter seeks to create a couch or table according
to the form of a couch or the form of a table (Republic 596b), which suggests
that their work too comes under the oversight of the philosopher rulers.
This desire to control the products of the artisans reflects Plato’s belief that it
is important to control informal education as well as formal. This is further
demonstrated in Plato’s banning of the theatre which he regards as harmful
because drama manipulates feelings and desires and unsettles what the members
of the audience have been taught during their education by the state.8
This raises issues about the relationship between formal and informal educa-
tion and the way in which non-liberal regimes, such as the medieval Catholic
Church in England or the Puritan colonies of New England frequently sought
to censor expression of dissident, or even merely divergent views (for example,
those of quietist, non-proselytising religious groups) as well as controlling the
curriculum in formal education. It is also an area in which the advocacy by
Locke and Mill of toleration and critical thinking, and their essential place in
education, brings them into conflict with Plato.
 Plato  37
The second discussion of education, that relating to the higher education of
the auxiliaries, also addresses the selection of those who are to become philo-
sophers, and hence rulers in the state. The first stage of this higher education
involves education in arithmetic, plane geometry, astronomy and harmonics and
has two purposes. The first of these is to provide the auxiliaries with the
mathematical skills that are beneficial to military life, such as the use of arith-
metic in calculating (Republic 525b) and geometry in helping pitching camp
and planning manoeuvres (Republic 526d). The second, is to lay a foundation
of abstract thinking in the most philosophically gifted of the auxiliaries as prepa-
ration for their final training as philosophers. Plato contrasts the use of
mathematical skills by the auxiliaries and the potential philosophers with the
practical and intellectually far less sophisticated use of mathematics in commerce
(Republic 525c).
Those who excel at the sophisticated study of mathematics will finally, at the
age of 30 (Republic 537d) be initiated into dialectic, the study of intensely
abstract argument which will ultimately lead, through questioning and debate,
to the knowledge of the Forms, and most particularly the Form of the Good
(Republic 543c–d). After an initial period of training in dialectic they will then
undergo a further period of physical training for five years (Republic 539e), fol-
lowed by another 15 years of being tested in positions of military authority or
other offices suitable for the young (Republic 540a). Only at the age of 50 years
will those who have proved their worth finally ascend to knowledge of the
Forms.9 After this they will spend their lives doing philosophy and, from time to
time, in rotation, they will serve terms as rulers of the republic.
In terms of the four themes outlined in the Introduction of this volume,
Plato stresses the importance of education in establishing and preserving order
and stability in society. His belief in the need for strict control in society, and
especially his argument for the need to educate a class of elite experts to ensure
this, places him at odds with populists. Yet some of the most powerful criticisms
of Plato have been made by liberals, of whom Popper is among the most prom-
inent.10 As we saw in the Chapter 1, one irony of this is that the CEU, of which
the populist government of Hungary is so critical, is funded by, and supports
the aims of the Open Society Forum which seeks to further the principles of
Popper’s liberalism.

Challenging the experts: the Socratic Method

One of Karl Popper’s major criticisms of Plato is that he banishes freedom of
speech, and freedom of thought, from the Republic and that his education
system seeks to reinforce this by stifling, at least for the great mass of the people
who do not become philosophers, both critical thinking and the autonomy of
the individual.
Some thinkers, however, have found the basis of a quite different approach
to education in other parts of Plato’s writings. The Republic belongs to a later
stage in Plato’s intellectual development – usually attributed to the middle dia-
logues11 – but whereas much of the Republic is largely a monologue in which
38  Plato
Socrates offers a fully worked out system of thought, culminating in the theory
of forms and a strictly hierarchical view of society, many of Plato’s earlier works
are very different in tone and content. These early dialogues, such as Euthrypho,
Crito, Phaedo, Charmides, Laches and Lysis take the form of discussions between
Socrates, who had been Plato’s mentor and teacher until his trial and execution,
and one or more protagonists on a particular topic, such as beauty, love and
goodness. In these dialogues, unlike in the Republic, Socrates does not offer any
answers to the questions himself but simply draws out the views of other people
– they read very much like genuine dialogues, as if neither Socrates, who is
speaking, or Plato, who is writing, knows the answers and both are genuinely
curious to know where the questioning will lead. The discussions take place in a
variety of locations, in private houses, outside the courthouse, in the market
place, and Socrates particularly seeks out those who are widely regarded as
experts in the particular topics he wants to discuss. Socrates’ method begins by
asking an expert for their definition of the topic in hand, such as beauty or love.
When the definition has been given Socrates asks further questions to make
people think through the implications of the beliefs they hold, with the result
that those with whom he is talking are forced to admit inconsistencies in their
beliefs. This newly arrived at definition then forms the basis for the next stage of
the discussion in which the process is repeated. This is the Socratic Method,12
and applied to education it has often been understood as suggesting an open-
ended and critical approach to problem solving. It also seems to draw upon the
method of dialectic which Plato discusses in the Republic.
This interpretation of the Socratic Method is very much to the fore in the
way in which several recent writers have drawn comparisons with the work of
the influential radical Brazilian educational theorist and adult educator Paulo
Freire (Brown 2012; Irwin 2012), especially his notion of dialogics in The Peda-
gogy of the Oppressed (Freire 1993: Chapter 3; see also Jarvis 2010: 97–101).
The Socratic Method is often contrasted, as well, with Confucianism in compar-
ing the teaching and learning styles of Western liberal democracies with those of
the allegedly authoritarian (or illiberal) China (Peters 2015). One of the most
important writers to suggest a radical disjunction between the early ‘liberal’
Socratic Plato and the later ‘dogmatic’ Plato is John Stuart Mill, who argues,
that there are ‘two complete Platos in Plato – the Sokratist and the dogmatist –
of whom the former is by far the most valuable to mankind, but the latter has
obtained from them much the greater honour’ (Mill CW, XI: 451).
We will discuss Mill’s argument more fully in Chapter 5. However, despite
such illustrious championing of the prioritising of the Socratic Method because
of its supposed critical and democratic aspects, there are two important reasons
why such an approach is problematic.
The first problem is that the historical Socrates’ support for democracy was,
to say the least, ambiguous. Waterfield (2009: 178–81) and Mitchell (2015:
196–201) both point to Socrates’ own misgivings about aspects of Athenian
democracy and they refer to his association with those like Alcibiades who vio-
lently opposed Athenian democracy as a reason for the persecution which led to
his trial and execution.
 Plato  39
Of course, even if Socrates himself were opposed to democracy that does not
mean that his method cannot be used profitably for education in a democratic
society. To see why we should be cautious, at least in how the method should
be applied, we need to return to Plato’s primary purpose in putting forward the
educational theory of the Republic. It was, in Rousseau’s striking phrase, to
have ‘purified the heart of man’ (Rousseau 1979: 40). Repulsed by what he sees
as the corruption of Athenian society, Plato offers a radical solution – replace
the current democratic order with a wholly different one which will be based
not on acquisitiveness and competition but on order and harmony, with each
person living contentedly in a society that emphasises simplicity and the natural
order. The belief in the need to purify the present corrupt political and eco-
nomic system and transform it into a more natural society is familiar in populist
politics and looked at from this perspective Socrates’ constant questioning of
the so-called experts could be seen not as an exercise of democratic citizenship
but a radical undermining of democratic order to help pave the way for a new
and more just rule.
This point can be seen more forcefully when we consider an apparent contra-
diction between Socrates’ criticism of experts in the Apology and his defence of
the theory of the philosopher rulers (who are, of course, experts par excellence)
which Plato attributes to Socrates in the Republic. There is much debate over
the precise relationship between the Socrates of the early dialogues and the
views which Plato attributes to him in the middle and later dialogues, but in
this case suggesting a possible difference between different stages in Plato’s
writing is in danger of obscuring a more important philosophical point. The
experts whom Socrates attacks in the Apology have an understanding which is
only partial and incomplete, which is why Socrates is able to undermine their
claims to true expertise (Apology 21b–4a). However, the philosopher rulers in
the Republic have a complete knowledge of reality, based on an understanding
of the Forms. Moreover, unlike that of the alleged experts, the knowledge of
the philosopher rulers has, so to speak, become internalised and, therefore, has
transformed them ethically as well as intellectually, as the prisoner who leaves
the cave has his sight illuminated by the Sun (Republic 516a–c and compare
508b–e). The philosopher who knows the Form of justice cannot but act justly.
The attack on experts in the Apology is best understood as an attack on those
whose claims to expertise are false. The attack is negative and the account of
true expertise has to wait until later writings. But in the Republic, once it has
been established who the true experts are there is no question of challenging
their authority.
There is a further reason why we should treat Socrates’ use of the dialectic
with some care. In the discussion of the education of the philosophers Plato
warns against the dangers of the misuse of dialectic by those who are young and
inexperienced. The dialectic is by its very nature critical and in challenging
accepted opinions and beliefs without offering positive alternatives it can be
dangerously destructive both for the soul of the individual who uses it and
for the society of which he (or she) is a part. This danger is one reason why,
having been taught the elements of dialectic and learnt to use its method, the
40  Plato
­ rospective philosophers are forced to undergo five years of hard physical training
p
followed by 15 years of administration to give them the time to mature to a
point where they can be entrusted to use the dialectic wisely (Republic
539a–40b).
There are some similarities with populism here. One is the rejection of false
claims to an expertise which privileges the expert to the extent that they lay
claim to a superior role in society. The claim is false because the expert has at
best only a partial understanding. This is a particularly important aspect of the
Socratic Method which draws attention to its negative, destructive potential.
There are good examples of this in the first part of Book I of the Republic
where Socrates shows the inconsistency first in Cephalus’ definition of justice
and then in Polemarchus’ amended version. In dismissing the expertise of his
interlocutors because they are incomplete, Socrates is implicitly saying in Book I
what he argues for explicitly for in the later books of the Republic, which is that
only those with a complete understanding of the truth can legitimately be
leaders of society. It follows from this that democracy is a bad type of govern-
ment because, among other reasons, it encourages debate and eventual com-
promise whereas in the Republic the great majority of people should only listen
and acquiesce. Mill, in common with many later philosophers and educators,
highlighted what he took to be the directly opposite benefit of the Socratic
Method, which was to encourage fierce debate and argument in order to
achieve compromise and to get closer to a semblance of an always unreachable
truth. It is no surprise that Mill rejected the theory of Forms as metaphysical
nonsense. These two views of the Socratic Method imply very different educa-
tional values and systems as well as different fundamental assumptions about the
place of reason in politics.
A second similarity with populism, closely linked to the first, is the rejection
of an expertise which, while genuine, is self-serving rather than at the service of
the community. A prime example of this kind of expert is Thrasymachus in
Book I of the Republic who argues for the cynical view that politicians always
rule in their own self-interest. Part of the dramatic purpose of Thrasymachus in
the dialogue is to reveal the true nature of rulers in democracies like Athens, a
view which finds echoes in contemporary populist criticism of the alleged cor-
ruption and incompetence of many politicians. But Thrasymachus not only lays
bare the nature of such rulers, he also exemplifies them in his own person. Thra-
symachus is a Sophist and Sophists are often portrayed by Plato as a prime
example of the pernicious effect of having some genuine skill in dialectic which
is nevertheless incomplete. This is because they have been partly, though inade-
quately, trained in philosophy and, having become corrupted, sell their expertise
in argument to the highest bidder. That is what so-called experts in democratic
societies are like, Plato is arguing: their claim to expertise is a sham.
For Plato the lack of true expertise is fundamentally a matter of intellect, of
the long, hard, self-denying education that ultimately, in the most famous
metaphor of the Republic, allows a person to leave the cave with its shadows
and illusions and become illuminated by the true light of the sun. But the
person so illuminated realises a duty to go into the cave and try to guide those
 Plato  41
still caught up in illusions (Republic 514a–17c). This is a powerful image
which resonates with much populist thought: the view of the rightful rulers as
members of the community, not above it, not seeking to benefit from their rule
but willing to sacrifice their own happiness for the greater good of the com-
munity. The philosopher rulers have no private property, wealth or family life:
they sacrifice all that for the greater good of serving the community (Republic
415d–27c). Moreover, they are not cosmopolitans, their commitment is wholly
focused on the community of the republic they govern. Populists who are
nationalists often share Plato’s view that only those who have a complete
understanding should rule, but they amend the argument to define such
­
an understanding of the truth to at least partly redefine the communal identity
of the ruler in terms of nationalism. On this view, one cannot expect someone
who is not in harmony with the nation (someone who is a foreigner by birth or
who is cosmopolitan in outlook) to sufficiently understand the values and prin-
ciples of the nation. There are powerful, consciously Platonic, echoes of this in
Rousseau’s view of the importance of small communities and civic obligation.13
Because, unlike Plato, populists are not opposed to democracy they might in
some respects appear to be closer to the Athenian democracy of Plato’s day than
to modern representative democracy, with an emphasis on trusting the views of
the ordinary people. But, like Rousseau, they might believe that only a demo-
cracy which expresses the general will (which Rousseau thought Athenian
democracy had ceased to do by the time of Plato) is legitimate. Those who do
not share the values of the general will cannot be members of the community.
The significance of the Socratic Method is of great importance to any debate
about the proper nature of education and of the relationship between education
and society. The Method has been seen, and rightly so, as an extremely helpful
model when teaching critical thinking, which is a fundamental part of education
in a liberal democratic society. It is, however, crucial to differentiate between
good teaching methods and the claim that the application of such methods
inevitably leads to particular kinds of political societies. Taken in isolation as a
method, through the relentless negative criticism of the ideas of others,14 it can
also have a powerful impact as a tool of illiberal politics and illiberal education.
In this way it illustrates the point that critical thinking divorced from a respect
for evidence and from the idea of civility, both ideas which will be discussed in
the next chapter as they appear in Locke’s work, may actually contribute to the
development of illiberal education
Plato would have rejected many populist arguments, and populist move-
ments, and would have seen them as pandering to the worst aspects of demo-
cracy and the democratic soul. Plato’s ideal republic, with its highly educated
rulers guiding a docile and politically uninvolved society, might also seem to
embody a populist’s worst nightmare. As we will see in Chapters 3 and 5, liberal
thinkers such as Locke and Mill shared some of Plato’s misgivings about
democracy, partly because they believed in the importance of rulers being
­
well-educated and being able to make the kind of skilled judgments which
­
would be beyond the ability of the untrained majority. In that respect the
­successes of liberal democracy and representative government in the nineteenth
42  Plato
and twentieth centuries at the expense of the majority of people being able to
have a more direct say in policy making laid some of the foundations for the
re-emergence of populism in the twenty-first century. This was particularly
­
because experts seemed to lose control of the economy during the financial
crisis of 2008, but it also drew on longer term concerns, such as the perceived
democratic deficit in the governance of the European Union.
Despite Plato’s dislike of democracy there are aspects of his thinking which
have some similarities with populism. It would be wrong to argue that there is
any direct link between contemporary populists and Plato’s Republic, but there
is an indirect route through Plato’s influence on Rousseau and Rousseau’s own
contribution to the foundations of populism. One way this is apparent is in the
use of the Socratic Method to undermine expert opinion leading to an erosion
of support for experts, which could feed into populism. Closely linked to this is
Plato’s argument that current society cannot be reformed but must be recreated –
an idea which profoundly influenced Rousseau and which has echoes in much
populist thought. In both these cases education is key to ensuring that only
the wrong kinds of experts, or ideas, or values are questioned and to lay the
foundations of the newer and better society which is to come.

Notes
 1 The Republic is conventionally divided into ten ‘Books’, though this is the work of
later editors. I follow the standard practice by referring to Plato’s works using
­Staphanus’ numbering system. The best modern edition of Plato’s work in English
translation is the Complete Works edited by John M. Cooper (1997). The edition of
Republic in the Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought series (2000)
has a very useful introduction and notes.
  2 The rule of the Thirty Tyrants was a period of dictatorship imposed by Sparta as part
of its conditions for peace following its defeat of Athens at the end of the Peloponne-
sian War. As we will see below (pp.  38–9), Socrates was accused by some critics of
being more in sympathy with the values, though not the particular practice, of the
Tyrants than with the values of Athenian democracy.
  3 For a critical review of Mitchell’s argument see Atack 2017: 578–80.
  4 Following his account of the three parts of the state, Plato describes the three parts
of the soul as reason, spiritedness (or honour) and desire (Republic 434d–41c). The
just person is one who is ruled by reason which controls spiritedness and desire.
Democratic societies are marked by people in whom the three parts of the soul are in
constant competition and so their lives are chaotic, with no settled purpose (Republic
561c–2a).
 5 From the time of the publication of The Open Society and Its Enemies Popper has
been heavily criticised for his characterisation of Plato as a totalitarian, but see Black-
burn 2006: 52–8 for a recent sympathetic discussion of Popper’s views.
  6 A fuller analysis of Plato’s apparent relegation of most people to a life devoid of intel-
lectual enlightenment has to be balanced by his metaphysical view of human being as
living many lives through reincarnation, especially in the myth of Er in the Republic
Book X, though that is beyond the scope of our present discussion.
  7 This is discussed further in Chapter 3.
  8 Rousseau in his Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre (1960), appeals to these argu-
ments in his attempt to prevent a theatre being established in Geneva – see Chapter 4.
  9 It is an important feature of this education that it relegates empirical information to
the realm of belief rather than knowledge. Plato believes that the physical world is
constantly changing and so there cannot be any certainty based on our experience of
 Plato  43
any part of it. In his dialogue Cratylus he has Socrates refer to Heraclitus who
expresses this idea by saying that because the water in a river is always flowing it is
impossible to step into the same river twice (Cratylus 402a). This is one of the basic
differences between the philosophies of Plato and Locke, and a source of their
­contrasting theories of education.
10 See also Blackburn 2006: 52–8; Cartledge 2016: 98. Liberal defenders of Plato
against Popper include Annas 1981: Chapter 7, especially 74–6; Pappas 1995:
195–200; Ryan 2012: 47–70.
11 For a succinct account of the questions surrounding the chronological order of
Plato’s works see Cooper’s ‘Introduction’ to Plato 1997: viii–xviii.
12 It is also referred to by the technical term Elenchus.
13 We will discuss in Chapter 4 similarities with Rousseau’s theory of education in
Emile, which emphasises the need for the purity of the soul to be a good person and
a good citizen and also with his account of the education of citizens in Considera-
tions on the Government of Poland (2019b).
14 Judith Shklar argues, in Men and Citizens, that Rousseau is a social critic, not someone
who is a political activist or even envisages radical change. In the Preface to the second
edition she writes: ‘His great aim was to disturb, awaken and so shake us into recognis-
ing the actualities of our lives’ (Shklar 1985: vii) There is a similar problem with
­Rousseau’s approach as there is with Plato’s; that radical criticism without the mech-
anism for bringing about positive alternatives, and the means of putting that alternative
in practice, has the potential of being wholly destructive. It also opens the door to the
possibility of scapegoating certain individuals or groups if things go wrong. Because the
ideas of the philosophers or of the general will cannot be wrong, the explanation must
lie elsewhere, with those who are not prepared – or not able – to submit to the superior
wisdom or be in harmony with the general will. Education is one of the keys to
­ensuring that people do not deviate from the correct path.
3 John Locke
A liberal philosophy of education

Locke’s writings
The political and educational philosophy of John Locke offers a stark contrast
to that of Plato. Locke was a medical scientist and an active member of the
Royal Society of London, as well as a philosopher, and his theory of knowledge,
based upon a defence of the primacy of empirical knowledge, reflects his com-
mitment to the scientific method which was developing in the seventeenth
century. His liberal defence of political freedom, based on the moral autonomy
of the individual, and his empiricist epistemology are fundamentally opposed to
Plato’s ideal of a strictly hierarchical society ruled by philosophers in possession
of absolute truth arrived at by abstract reasoning and for whom information
acquired through the senses leads most frequently to error and confusion.
Locke’s work, published in the latter part of the seventeenth century, had a
profound effect on the Enlightenment thinkers of the eighteenth century
(Pagden 2013: 63–4) and on the development of liberalism in Europe and
North America. Like Locke, Enlightenment thinkers such as the French philos-
ophes Voltaire and Denis Diderot and the Americans Thomas Jefferson and
James Madison stress the importance of reason being informed by empirical know-
ledge, and the relevance of such knowledge to the development of liberal
­political principles and practice.1 In arguing this way, they are often very critical
of the governments of their own day2 which, they claim, frequently fall short of
these standards. At the same time, many Enlightenment thinkers are also wary
of placing too much power in the hands of what they see as the irrational and
uneducated masses. Appeals to the natural wisdom of the great majority of
‘ordinary people’, lacking education and guided by feelings and emotions as
they are perceived to be, are rejected by those like Voltaire who believe in the
superior power of educated reason.3
In contrast to those people who held Locke in such high esteem, Rousseau’s
argument, that a truly just society would not be one based primarily on reason
and specialised knowledge but on the deeper values of society expressed
through the general will, means that his relationship to the Enlightenment, and
to liberalism, is, to say the least, ambiguous. This conflict between the liberal
ideals of the Enlightenment, strongly influenced by Locke, and the contrasting
emphasis on the value of the untarnished expression of the deep values of
 John Locke  45
­articular societies, underlie two distinct ways of thinking about political
p
­societies, and of the type of education they require, throughout modern Euro-
pean and North American history. The current conflict between liberalism and
populism is the most recent manifestation of this.
Today, Locke’s best known, and still widely studied, books are An Essay
Concerning Human Understanding (henceforth Essay)4 (Locke 1975) and Two
Treatises of Government (henceforth Two Treatises) (Locke 1988) along with his
A Letter Concerning Toleration (1993), first published in Latin as Epistola de
Tolerantia. All three were extensively read in the eighteenth century but his
Some Thoughts Concerning Education (henceforth Some Thoughts) (Locke 1968;
1989; 1996) was at least as popular and played a significant role in shaping pro-
gressive thinking about education in a liberal society. It was also read closely by
Rousseau who discusses it frequently in Emile, sometimes agreeing with Locke,
but often criticising him for what he regards as the Englishman’s shortcomings.
Rousseau’s ambiguous attitude towards Locke’s work reflects not only a similar
ambiguity on his part towards the Enlightenment but also, as I will argue in
Chapter 4, to many of the central principles of liberalism. In this chapter I will
refer to the Two Treatises and other of Locke’s political writings, including his
work on toleration, but the primary focus will be on Some Thoughts and Of the
Conduct of the Understanding (henceforth Conduct) (Locke 1996). Conduct is
a short work which was originally intended by Locke as an additional chapter
for later editions of the Essay but was only published posthumously and
­separately. As the title implies, Of the Conduct of the Understanding is con-
cerned with how to think correctly and in the book Locke often relates this to
education and to the importance of education for helping to develop mature
and responsible citizens.
The question of the relationship between Locke’s writings, and the permissi-
bility of drawing upon several texts to develop a single argument, was regarded
as problematic during Locke’s lifetime and continues to be much discussed.
Some have argued that Locke wrote what were often effectively discrete works
with little or no overlap – the Essay and the Two Treatises are often cited, for
example, as having incompatible theories of innate ideas. This view began with
Voltaire and has been followed by recent writers such as David Lay Williams
(Williams 2007: 20–3). Other writers, such as John Yolton and Jean Yolton,
have argued that while Locke’s work is not systematic there are many connec-
tions between his different writings. They note especially the closeness between
Some Thoughts and the Two Treatises, arguing that the latter work is concerned
with the role of the citizen in society while Some Thoughts is concerned (at least
in significant part) with preparing a young person to take his place in that
society as a good citizen (‘Introduction’ in Locke 1989: 18). More recently,
Nicholas Jolley argues in Toleration and Understanding in Locke (Jolley 2016)
that although there are some inconsistencies between Locke’s works there is a
greater unity in his thought than has often been recognised and that the
concept of toleration, which preoccupied Locke throughout his life, affords the
best way to seeing these connections. In what follows I will treat Locke’s work
as broadly consistent.
46  John Locke
That said, it is also important to stress that Some Thoughts is written in a
different style, and with a different purpose, to that of the Essay, the Two Trea-
tises and the Letter on Toleration. Some Thoughts began as a series of letters
which Locke wrote to his friend Edward Clarke in reply to Clarke’s request for
advice on the education of his son. Locke’s advice both to Clarke and to other
friends became well known and, as Locke says in the epistle dedicatory, he has
been ‘consulted of late by so many … who profess themselves at a loss how to
breed their children …’. It is not particularly surprising that Locke was seen this
way as he had considerable experience of teaching children and young men. His
experience as a university teacher at Christ Church College, Oxford meant that
he had close pastoral as well as teaching responsibilities with respect to those in
his charge (Cranston 1957: 70–3; Woolhouse 2007: 47–9; Axtell’s comments
in Locke 1968: 37–41). In addition, he later became tutor to a number of chil-
dren. The education of Edward Clarke’s son seems not to have been the success
that Locke claimed it was in the epistle dedicatory to Some Thoughts (Wool-
house 2007: 306–8, 416–17) but there were other notable achievements, the
most significant of whom was the grandson of Ashley Cooper. Locke acted as
director of education for the boy who later, as the third Earl of Shaftsbury,
became a philosopher of some distinction. In his published philosophical work,
the third Earl disagreed on important points with Locke but nevertheless still
referred to him with affection and respect as ‘my friend and foster father’
(quoted in Woolhouse 2007: 97; see also Koganzon 2016: 556). Locke would
regard Shaftsbury’s independence of thought as an indication of the success of
his education.
Locke was critical of much of the education of his own day. From his time as
a pupil at Westminster School, where he was championed by the headmaster,
Richard Busby (Woolhouse 2007: 15; Cranston 1957: 18–28), and through
which he gained a scholarship to Christ Church College, Oxford, he retained a
dislike of parts of the curriculum, such as rhetoric and, perhaps more funda-
mentally, a disapproval of many of the methods used in teaching, including the
practice of corporal punishment (Woolhouse 2007: 14–15). This disapproval is
reflected in his argument in Some Thoughts that corporal punishment should be
used sparingly, in only the most exceptional cases (Locke 1989: 112–13,
144–6) He was also highly critical of the scholasticism and Aristotelianism
which were dominant in Oxford at the time when he was a student, and which
his own later philosophical work did much to undermine.

Education and epistemology

Locke’s eminence in the latter part of his life was built to a considerable extent
upon the success of the Essay following its publication in 1689, and the recep-
tion of Some Thoughts on its publication some years later benefited considerably
from the knowledge that both were written by the same author. These two
books were rare among Locke’s works in that he acknowledged his authorship
of both of them, reinforcing the view that his work on education draws upon
the epistemological views of the Essay.5
 John Locke  47
Central to Locke’s epistemology is his argument concerning the basis of
knowledge. What, he asks at the beginning of Book II of the Essay is the source
of our claims to know anything? His answer forms one of the most celebrated
passages in early modern philosophy.

Let us then suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all
characters, without any ideas; how comes it to be furnished? Whence comes
it by that vast store which the busy and boundless fancy of man has painted
on it, with an almost endless variety? Whence has it all the materials of
reason and knowledge? To this I answer, in one word, from experience; in
all that our knowledge is founded, and from that it ultimately derives itself.
Our observation employed either about external sensible objects, or about
the internal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected on by our-
selves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the materials of
thinking. These two are the fountains of knowledge, from whence all the
ideas we have, or can naturally have, do spring.
(Locke 1824: Essay, Book II, Chapter 1, Section 2)

It follows from the claim that knowledge of the external world is dependent on
our senses that the mind at birth is, in the metaphor he employs at the begin-
ning of the above quotation, a sheet of empty white paper ‘void of all characters
without any ideas’. One inference that has been drawn from this picture of the
mind has had considerable implications for education. Some later liberal think-
ers have argued that if all minds are equally empty at birth, all children are in
principle intellectually equal and that therefore they could, and arguably should,
have the same educational experience and opportunities (see Tarcov 1984:
109). A particularly radical, though less liberal, version of this argument is to be
found in the writings of Behaviourists such as John Watson.

Give me a dozen healthy infants, well-formed, and my own specified world

to bring them up in and I’ll guarantee to take any one at random and train
him to become any type of specialist I might select – doctor, lawyer, artist,
merchant-chief and, yes, even beggar-man and thief, regardless of his
talents, penchants, tendencies, abilities, vocations, and race of his ancestors.
(Watson 1970: 82)

Locke’s account of the mind is rather subtler than many eighteenth and nine-
teenth century empiricist interpretations suggest, and far from the views of
twentieth century Behaviourists like Watson. The passage quoted above, which
compares the mind of a new born infant to an empty sheet of paper, has to be
read in the context of its place in the Essay. Coming at the beginning of
Book  II, it follows on immediately from Locke’s criticism of the theory of
innate ideas in Book I, where he attacks the view that the mind is born fully
equipped with distinct principles, or ideas, particularly of morality, theology,
mathematics and logic. The theory of innate ideas was widely held by those who
regarded themselves as Platonists – philosophers such as Descartes and Leibniz
48  John Locke
and the Cambridge Platonists – who argue that the evidence of the senses is too
unreliable to serve as the basis of knowledge. This being the case, the only sure
source of knowledge must be innate ideas implanted by God in the human
mind, without which neither the truth of theology or morality, nor of mathe-
matics and logic, could be established. Locke’s attack on this theory, and his use
of the metaphor of the white sheet of paper as part of his strategy, has to be
understood as an attack on a particular theory of epistemology, not a direct
statement on the structure of the mind.
John Yolton and Jean Yolton argue that Locke never intended the metaphor
of a white sheet to be taken to mean that everyone’s mind at birth was the
same. In their introduction to the Clarendon edition of Some Thoughts, they
maintain that Locke was fully aware of the differences of character between
­children at birth, a point they make in the context of Locke’s discussion of the
need for parents to recognise the differences in ‘Temper and the particular
Constitution of [each child’s] Mind …’ (Locke 1989: Section 100; for Yolton
and Yolton’s discussion see note 39 on page 162). To reinforce this point, we
can point to the final section of Some Thoughts where Locke uses the terms
‘white Paper’ and ‘Wax’ to describe how children might be moulded through
their education, but each needs to be treated differently because of the variety
of ‘Tempers … Inclinations and particular Defaults that are to be found in
­Children’ (Locke 1989: Section 217)
A good deal of the discussion of Some Thoughts makes no sense if we read
Locke as arguing that education is simply a matter of inputting information to a
passive mind; indeed such a reading of Locke is profoundly misleading in that it
undermines his liberal purposes in seeing education as a means of developing
children’s minds to be active and critical. Locke constantly emphasises the
importance of the teacher understanding and responding to what he refers to as
a child’s ‘natural genius and constitution’ (Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section
66). Although he claims that education contributes more than anything else to
the differences in the manners and abilities of men (Some Thoughts, Section 32),
he argues that it would be wrong to try to alter these fundamental traits.

We must not hope wholly to change their original tempers, nor make the
gay pensive and grave, nor the melancholy sportive, without spoiling them.
God has stamped certain characters upon men’s minds, which, like their
shapes, may perhaps be a little mended; but can hardly be totally altered
and transformed into the contrary.
(Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section 66)

Locke’s reference to the varying characters stamped upon different men’s minds
indicates that although empty of particular ideas at birth, individual minds
already have particular features which predispose them to interact with the
world in different ways. This links to a related argument which is of great
importance in Locke’s thinking, an emphasis on the importance of active, rather
than passive, thinking. This is illustrated in his discussion of reading in Conduct,
where he refers to the importance of an active engagement with what one reads.
 John Locke  49
‘Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of knowledge, it is thinking
makes what we read ours’ (Locke 1824: Conduct, Section 20). Children should
be taught to read in this way, so that they learn the habit of questioning what
they read. Education of the young is vitally important because, properly con-
ducted, it inculcates into them the ideals of critical thinking which should
enrich their own lives in adulthood and allow them to in turn enrich and
strengthen the society of which they are a part.

This is that which I think great readers are apt to be mistaken in. Those
who have read of every thing, are thought to understand every thing too;
but it is not always so. Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of
knowledge, it is thinking makes what we read ours. We are of the ruminat-
ing kind, and it is not enough to cram ourselves with a great load of collec-
tions; unless we chew them over again, they will not give us strength and
nourishment.
(Locke 1824: Conduct, Section 20)

This is an argument which has echoes in Friere’s criticism, referred to in

Chapter 2 of this volume, of the banking view of education in The Pedagogy of
the Oppressed. Offering a radical critique based on a strongly Marxist influenced
version of Liberation Theology, of what he considers to be the corrupt, hierar-
chical society in his native Brazil, Freire claims that education in Brazil, as in
many other places, consists in educators ‘depositing’ information in children’s
heads, as a person might deposit money in a bank (Freire 1993: 53). The
information is there to be retrieved when needed, to enable workers to fulfil
their roles in the economy, but the dogmatic way in which it is taught, and the
passive way in which it is received, means that those who have been schooled in
this way lack the skills and understanding to be critical of what they have learnt.
This banking view of education is based on an empiricist epistemology
which sees young minds as malleable and education as a form of social condi-
tioning, a view not unlike that expressed in the quotation from John Watson’s
Behaviorism (1970), referred to above (p. 47). It is important to emphasise that
Locke’s epistemology does not support such a view and is, on the contrary,
strongly opposed to it. In this respect Locke’s liberal theory of education,
although very different from Freire’s theory in other ways, has a similar poten-
tial for being critical of the status quo; an important reminder of the radical
potential in his liberalism.

Some limits of Locke’s liberal philosophy of education

Locke’s epistemology, then, does not imply a passive view of education. There
are, though, other differences between Locke and Freire. Chief of these is that
unlike, Freire, Locke is not a revolutionary, in the sense of wanting to over-
throw the established economic and social order. He argues for a defence of
calm, steady thought, in which the individual has the ultimate responsibility for
his own opinions, and that these opinions should be frequently and carefully
50  John Locke
analysed, reappraised and, where appropriate, corrected. Marxist critics of
Locke’s liberal individualism have sometimes attacked him, at this point as
­elsewhere, for what Marx himself characterises as Locke’s atomistic view of the
individual and society. Yet this misunderstands Locke, for whom thinking
should not be a solitary matter and who argues that the person who neglects to
listen to others, and engage in open and frank discussion, seriously narrows the
scope of his knowledge and the development of his critical abilities.
It is tempting to see a contrast between Freire’s revolutionary fervour and
Locke’s more sedate approach as a contrast between the rebel Freire, forced to
flee his home country under pressure from an oppressive government, with
Locke the respectable English gentleman and, late in life, a pillar of the estab-
lishment. Such a view would be seriously misleading. Locke was deeply involved
in the opposition politics of the 1680s and had to flee to Holland after the fall
of his patron Lord Shaftsbury. As John Dunn has written, by ‘1682, if not
before, Shaftsbury himself, and Locke, Algernon Sydney Lord William Russell
and the Earl of Essex were all gambling with their lives’ (Dunn 1984: 9). Locke
is powerfully committed to change and unless this is appreciated, the radical
nature of his approach to education, as much as to politics as a whole, cannot
be fully understood.
There is, though, another contrast with Freire which is more problematic.
Locke’s political philosophy is radical and subversive when understood in the
context of late Restoration England, but as even the most sympathetic of com-
mentators on Locke’s writings on education, including Tarcov (1984: 5), point
out, his advice was aimed at the gentry, not at the lower orders. In Section 7 of
Conduct, Locke contrasts the narrow mindedness of the ploughman with the
greater intellectual flexibility of the man of leisure, explaining that scientific know-
ledge is available only to those who have the time to devote to it. This might
seem to imply a defence of class divisions, a view which could be taken to
reinforce C. B. McPherson’s criticisms of Locke in his Political Theory of Possessive
Individualism for whom Locke’s theory of individualism renders class divisions
inevitable (1962). It might also suggest an elitism in one of the founders of liberal
thought which populists could see as indicating a fundamental flaw at the heart of
liberalism, present from its foundations in the early modern period and carrying
over into the mainstream thinking of Enlightenment philosophes such as Voltaire,
and, with more far reaching consequences, founders of the American Republic
such as Jefferson and Madison. As we will see in the next chapter, Rousseau
thought criticisms along these lines were very significant.
Such criticisms, though, are misplaced. While it is true that Locke does not
question the social order which leaves the ploughman without time or oppor-
tunity to improve his understanding this does not mean that he believes the
ploughman is necessarily inherently inferior to the man of leisure. Rather it
reflects the different opportunities in life. It becomes clearer that Locke does not
think that members of the leisured class are inherently more skilled at thinking
and reflection when in Conduct Section 8 he discusses the importance for all
Christians to come to a clear understanding of the fundamental principles of their
faith. In a particularly telling example he refers to the Huguenot Protestants
 John Locke  51
among the skilled artisans and peasants of France who, he claims, often have a
deeper and more sophisticated understanding of theological issues than many of
the more highly educated and leisured Protestants in England. This is because the
Huguenots, under intense pressure from the French government to convert to
Roman Catholicism, have a much greater incentive to think through the prin-
ciples and implications of their faith. Locke broadens this argument in Conduct
Section 23 where he argues that the study of theology is the duty of every man
and something which all rational people are capable of. He goes on to argue, in a
manner familiar from his writings on toleration, that in a free society people
should be at liberty to work out and express their opinions on religion:

This is that science [i.e. theology] which would truly enlarge men’s minds,
were it studied, or permitted to be studied every where, with that freedom
love of truth and charity which it teaches, and were not made, contrary to
its nature, the occasion of strife, faction, malignity, and narrow impositions.
(Locke 1824: Conduct, Section 23)

Locke’s arguments do not logically commit him to the belief that working-
class men might never have the time and formal education to be able to take
part in political debate and to vote. That is not to say that he envisaged this
happening and indeed, to use one of his own arguments in part against him,
he suffered from the prejudices of his day. From a broader liberal perspective
it is important to bear in mind the later liberal view, discussed in Chapter 1,
of the need to allow for development of liberal principles, a point reinforced
by Locke’s own general epistemological view on the need to revise one’s opin-
ions in the light of new evidence and experience. This liberal argument about
the need to be willing to revise principles recurs, for example, in Mill’s contri-
bution to the debates about the ability of working-class people to acquire suf-
ficient education to be able to vote in a serious and responsible manner. For
much of the nineteenth century even liberals such as the Liberal Prime
Minister William Gladstone were uncertain as to whether this was possible and
it was only with the extension of the franchise in the Second Reform Act that
prominent members of the Liberal Party, including Gladstone himself, came
to accept that the working classes were able to make measured and responsible
judgements about politics. This point will be returned to in the discussion of
Mill in Chapter 5 but for the moment it is important to stress that a rational,
liberal-minded person of the nineteenth century (a John Stuart Mill or a
Harriet Taylor Mill, for example) would in part be building on Locke’s own
insights in examining his or her opinions to welcome the extension of the
franchise and the wider political participation of adult citizens as a whole.
While populists are correct to argue that liberals sometimes defend the power
and privileges of wealthy elites, they are wrong to suggest that this is an
­inherent defect of liberalism. The critical thinking which liberals stress as vital
to a healthy political system, and which they argue should be taught as part of
the education required by a liberal state, ought always to involve a critical
­re-evaluation of how liberal ideas are applied.
52  John Locke
This raises two questions which now need to be addressed. The first is: what
precisely does Locke mean by critical thinking? The second raises a broader
question that is potentially problematic for all liberal thought: is a liberal educa-
tion which provides learners with the ability to think critically able to avoid the
charge that it will still inevitably reinforce an uncritical acceptance of those
liberal values which are essential parts of the foundations of a liberal society?

Critical thinking and expertise

Locke’s discussion of critical thinking rests on two of his most important philo-
sophical beliefs, the empiricist theory of knowledge and the responsibility of
individuals to do their civic duty.
Empiricism, in Locke’s understanding, requires intellectual modesty. The
theory that all claims to knowledge rest upon evidence places considerable limits
on what a person can claim to know, as opposed to what they merely believe to
be the case. Even when a theory is based on a large body of evidence, new
information may be discovered which will force a re-evaluation, or even a rejec-
tion, of the theory. Empiricism can never lead to certainty of the kind which
Plato envisages in the Republic. Indeed, it is fear of the instability of claims to
knowledge based upon empirical evidence that lies behind Plato’s rejection of
empiricism, and the position of seventeenth century philosophers like Descartes,
Leibniz and the Cambridge Platonists who followed him at this point.
Locke, by contrast, embraces the lack of certainty. In the ‘Epistle to the
Reader’, which serves as his preface to the Essay, he writes: ‘Every step which the
mind takes in its progress towards knowledge, makes some discovery, which is not
only new, but the best too, for the time at least’. In maintaining that all claims to
knowledge are provisional and subject to revision, and thereby rejecting the Pla-
tonic view that it is possible to arrive at an understanding of unchanging, timeless
truths, he also rejects the basis of Plato’s theory of education. Plato argues that
the purpose of education is for those who have true knowledge to guide people
to take their place uncritically in a rigidly ordered society. By contrast, Locke’s
theory of knowledge leads to a view of education which encourages learners to be
open-minded and critical of received opinions, both when they are engaged in
formal study and as a preparation for their lives as citizens.
How is this open-mindedness to be promoted? There are, Locke says, two
things which are essential. These are to maintain an attitude of indifference
between the claims of alternative propositions to being true until one has good,
sound well-argued and well-evidenced reasons for choosing between them and
when (or if) one has made such a decision to be willing to re-examine one’s
reasons in the light of new arguments and new evidence. These two things,
being of such great importance to the way in which a person leads his life,
should be of particular concern in education.
Locke says a good deal about the benefits of indifference between theories
because he believes that most people are brought up from childhood simply
believing the widely held views in their society without ever examining them, or
thinking through what reasons there might be for holding them. Yet indifference
 John Locke  53
might seem a strange value to emphasise – surely, one might argue, indifference
is a curse of political and social life – one should be committed to improving
the lot of one’s fellow citizens not standing idly by while others suffer injustice.
It is important to distinguish between two different senses of indifference. The
first sense is that of epistemological indifference where we have no good
grounds for either assenting to or dissenting from the truth claims of a par-
ticular proposition. The second is moral or political indifference to the attitudes,
actions or sufferings of another when we nevertheless are aware of an obligation
to that person. Locke does not argue that we should be indifferent in the
second sense, but he does maintain that a true moral obligation is only possible
once we have a clear, rational knowledge of the underlying principle and an
understanding of how that obligation should be discharged.
On the face of it this seems cold and unfeeling but there are two ways of
defending Locke from such a criticism. The first is that acting without a proper
understanding may lead to unfortunate consequences. The other is that moral
decision making of this kind does not take place in a vacuum and it is one of the
areas in which the education of a good person and a good citizen are inter-
twined. We learn to think and act morally as we develop as moral beings in
society with others but also as we learn to think analytically and to critically
evaluate the situations in which we find ourselves.
This argument is reflected in some of the current discussion of the relation-
ship between indifference, in the second sense, and populism. People have
become indifferent about politics, and between different political values and
ideals, because, it is argued, they have been disillusioned by the way in which
the elites which have come to dominate institutions in representative demo-
cracies use education and the media to mislead them. Convinced that there is
no way of discovering the truth even about the things which affect them most,
such as the economy, they stop trying to understand and lose interest. Having
become disillusioned, the argument continues, they are then more susceptible
to populist rhetoric which appeals to feelings of anger and disillusionment and
promises to take radical steps to address their grievances. Locke’s response to
this is to say that under these circumstances it is essential to reserve judgement.
For Locke, appealing to feelings rather than reason sacrifices one of the
greatest strengths of a just society – the ability of its individual members,
through thinking rationally and critically, to challenge the policies of its rulers.
Early on in Section 3 of Conduct Locke argues that reason is the most
important element in human conduct but that it is often abused. He suggests
three reasons why people do not use their reason properly.
They allow their ideas and beliefs to be guided by others, such as ‘parents,
neighbours, ministers …’, they are guided by their passion rather than reason
and they have too narrow an understanding of the world beyond their own par-
ticular interests and prejudices. In essence, they do not enter into debate and
discussion with a wide variety of people of different opinions. ‘Thus’, he writes
in a later section, ‘we are taught to clothe our minds as we do our bodies, after
the fashion in vogue, and it is accounted fantasticalness, or something worse,
not to do so’ (Locke 1824: Conduct, Section 34).
54  John Locke
The first reason points to the danger of relying on the views of others, a
­ rinciple which was to become a staple of Enlightenment thought. Although it
p
warns against relying on anyone else’s opinions, it might be applied particularly
to experts. This is not to say that the opinions of experts are worthless, or to be
ignored, but that they should be analysed critically.
The second reason is a reiteration of Locke’s constant fear of the danger that
when reason is subordinated to emotion and feeling, people can easily be
manipulated by unscrupulous politicians and clergy. This is the basis of a recur-
ring liberal criticism of populist appeals to the ‘natural’ emotions and feelings of
‘ordinary’ people, such as patriotism and identity with one’s own kind rather
than with liberal, cosmopolitanism view of the world based on rationality.6
The third reason is particularly important for the discussion over expertise
and popular opinion because Locke warns against the dangers of both. In part
his argument is against narrow expertise. A person may have detailed knowledge
of a narrow subject area, and be able to apply that knowledge within the subject
area very well, but fail to grasp the wider implications for people or events
beyond the narrow domain of his or her expertise. So, for example, a person
might have specialist knowledge of mathematics and economics which enable
him or her to calculate the economically optimal choice between a range of
educational policies but lack a broader social or political awareness to see that
the consequences of implementing a particular policy would be detrimental to
the children and families affected.
But Locke’s argument also challenges populist assumptions that the people,
rather than the experts, know what is best. In part, this follows on from the
second reason, but more fundamentally, Locke’s argument suggests that
popular opinion suffers from the same narrowness of focus as the expert, as he
explains in the following passage from Conduct.

We are all short-sighted, and very often see but one side of a matter: our
views are not extended to all that has a connexion with it. From this defect
I think no man is free. We see but in part, and we know but in part, and
therefore it is no wonder we conclude not right from our partial views. This
might instruct the proudest esteemer of his own parts, how useful it is to
talk and consult with others, even such as come short of him in capacity,
quickness, and penetration: for, since no one sees all, and we generally have
different prospects of the same thing, according to our different, as I may
say, positions to it; it is not incongruous to think, nor beneath any man to
try, whether another may not have notions of things, which have escaped
him, and which his reason would make use of, if they came into his mind.
(Locke 1824: Conduct, Section 3)

Locke’s solution is to argue for a broader general understanding of issues and

for open-minded and free-ranging debate, coupled with the need to maintain
an attitude of indifference where there is insufficient information to make a
rational choice. It is an idea which reflects his view in Some Thoughts that educa-
tion should not aim to create specialists but well-rounded individuals who are
 John Locke  55
able to understand and debate a wide range of issues. The key here is that
education should prepare people to become engaged and active citizens. The
expert (such as in Locke’s own area of medicine to which he devoted much of
his adult life) can be of great value, but the expert must temper his or her
understanding with a wider social knowledge, which is why Locke argues that
there is time once the child becomes an adult for him or her to specialise.
It might be appropriate, as Locke claims it is in a letter to the Countess of
Peterborough, written in reply to her request for advice on the education of
her son (Locke 1968: 396), to teach a child the basics of human anatomy, but
clearly unwise to entrust the practice of surgery to a child, just as it would be
equally absurd to entrust surgery to an adult who lacked the appropriate know-
ledge and expertise. Expertise in such cases is invaluable but even in the case of
a skill-based expertise such as surgery the generally educated citizen has a right
to argue for the laying down of certain boundaries. The strength of the debate
over abortion in the contemporary United States, as elsewhere in the modern
world, is indicative of this, where the argument is not primarily about the skills
or medical knowledge of the surgeon but of the moral status of the foetus. If it
is maintained that the moral status of the foetus changes at a certain stage in its
development, appropriate technical expertise is clearly relevant. If, though, it is
argued on religious grounds that the foetus is a person from conception, or on
feminist grounds that the foetus has no moral status independent of the
mother until it is born, the opinion of the medical expert has no greater
­intellectual status than that of any other person who has given serious thought
to the matter. It is also important to emphasise that in Locke’s view, neither
being a priest nor being a woman would grant privileged understanding when
considering the two arguments. The argument is to be decided, if it can be
decided at all, on rational grounds that are open to all wish to engage with the
debate. The proviso ‘if it can be decided at all’ is necessary because of Locke’s
view of the need to recognise that reason often does not supply a definitive
answer and that indifference is the most appropriate response in many
situations. One of the most important purposes of education, upon which
­
Locke places considerable emphasis, is to recognise when one has reached the
limits of what can be decided rationally and not pass over into unfounded
­dogmatic belief.
The duty of experts according to this argument is limited to offering judg-
ments within their area of expertise. But even when they do make legitimate
claims, they are still not immune from the criticism of those who lack their par-
ticular expertise. They also have to understand the broader social context in
which their expertise is to be applied and as citizens to be engaged in society in
such a way that they can contribute to the well-being of the community.
The opinions of experts then become something which can be subject to the
serious, critical scrutiny of the well-educated active citizen. This is why a general
education is so important. People who have been taught the basics of anatomy
and human biology, for example, should be able to understand arguments
about the physical development of a human foetus. Such understanding will
help in following debates (such as those that take place in the United Kingdom
56  John Locke
from time to time) over at what point the foetus is sufficiently viable to make
abortion morally unacceptable.
There is also a requirement for specialists to communicate their expert opin-
ions as clearly as possible to the wider community, and not to hide behind
jargon. Locke is scathing in the Essay about specialists who use obscure lan-
guage as a means of mystifying the general population. In Book III he has in
mind particularly the Scholastics, but his words might apply to many who claim
specialist expertise and arcane knowledge from which the majority are excluded
through their ignorance of the appropriate language:

[t]his artificial ignorance, and learned gibberish, prevailed mightily in these

last ages, by the interest and artifice of those who found no easier way to
that pitch of authority and dominion they have attained, than by amusing
the men of business and ignorant with hard words, or employing the
ingenious and idle in intricate disputes about unintelligible terms, and
holding them perpetually entangled in that endless labyrinth.
(Locke 1824: Essay, Book III, Chapter 10)

Locke is not opposed to specialist knowledge, nor to expertise as such. His own
interest and expertise in medicine throughout his adult life are clear evidence of
this. What he is opposed to is the abuse of this knowledge as a form of social
exclusion and control – an exercise of ‘authority and dominion’. Again, the
most effective way of preventing this abuse is to have a broadly educated
­citizenry who are able to probe and challenge the arguments of experts.
This has important implications for populism. On Locke’s argument, all
citizens have both a right and a duty to critically scrutinise the opinions of
experts, but they also have a duty to be well-informed and open-minded: they
should not allow others to do their thinking for them, even (perhaps especially) if
those others are the leaders of a political party or social movement. Populist critics
of liberal elitism have a duty also, to ensure if they take power that the education
system is reformed to provide this more general education for all children.7

Education and the state

Locke’s argument that education should promote critical thinking raises a new
problem for a liberal philosophy of education. How far can a liberal state allow
educational institutions to challenge the very intellectual and political founda-
tions upon which the liberal state is built? Opponents of the educational policies
of populist governments such as that of Viktor Orbán argue that they are defi-
cient because they lack the capacity to build a principle of critical re-evaluation
into their educational programmes. Populist governments, so this argument
goes, cannot allow the state education system to encourage criticism of society’s
most important values. To this argument populists might reply that liberals are
in the same position – for all their vaunted praise of critical thinking, liberals
cannot permit their education system to allow searching questions which
threaten the underlying values of the liberal state.
 John Locke  57
Posed this way the difference between liberal and populist visions of society is
not caused by a conflict between a liberal championing of individual autonomy
and a populist emphasis on social order and stability but by two different views of
what is required for social order and stability. If that is so, it appears that ques-
tions about the scope of individual autonomy, and also of critical thinking, are
subservient issues decidable only after the question of social order has been
resolved. The question of expertise is also of secondary importance because the
role of experts will be defined and limited by what society requires. Education,
then, in a liberal state just as much as in one governed by populists, will have as
one of its primary functions the teaching of these fundamental values.
The teaching of these values will often not be explicit in a liberal society but,
from a populist perspective, they are no less restricting. The example of religion
may serve to illustrate this. Populist governments which regard Roman Catholi-
cism as part of the fabric of the nation, as do the Hungarian and Polish govern-
ments, specify that teaching about morality in schools should reflect Catholic
moral teaching. Liberal governments, based on a belief in the separation of
Church and State (de jure in the United States and France, de facto in England)
respect the rights of people of all religious persuasions (and those of none) but
discourage, in publicly funded schools, the teaching of any particular religion as
being uniquely true. The apparently neutral approach of liberal education to
religion in fact reflects, to many populists, an attitude to religious belief which,
by making a commitment to a particular religion a matter of personal choice,
relegates religion to the private sphere and refuses to accept that it has a right to
a voice in the public debate.
How should a liberal like Locke reply to this? Nathan Tarcov draws attention
to the fact that whereas many writers, starting with Plato, have understood the
importance of the relationship between education and the state, and have
treated them in the same work, Locke discusses them in separate works which
do not refer to each other (Tarcov 1984: 1–4). One important reason for this is
that whereas writers such as Plato argued that control of education by the state
was essential if a just society with the right kinds of citizens were to be possible,
Locke thought that education should be the responsibility of the parents not of
the state. This difference reflects a fundamental disagreement at the heart of
which is the contrast between Plato’s view that one of the most important pur-
poses of the state is the promotion of a particular idea of the ‘Good’ – of moral
and religious values, the belief in which are essential to a person being a good
person and also a good member of society – and Locke’s view, spelt out in
detail in the Two Treatises and his writings on toleration that the most
important role for government is to provide security for a person’s rights and
property.
So for Locke, one very important way of ensuring that the state does not
impose a uniform set of values on society which cannot be criticised is that the
state does not have a monopoly on education. To clarify his argument further it
will be helpful to briefly discuss Locke’s criticism of the widely held view at the
time he was writing that the state should allow a particular religious body to
have a monopoly over the content and delivery of the curriculum. In the
58  John Locke
England of Locke’s day, the Church of England, as the established church, had
this role, barring non-communicants from becoming either students or Fellows
at the universities of Oxford and Cambridge.8 It might be thought that that in
the light of Locke’s arguments about the general importance of thinking for
oneself, about the specific, and sacred, duty of each person to think through
their own religious beliefs, and of the dangers of relying on any authority,
including priests, that he would have disapproved of such an arrangement. That
is indeed the case. Although Locke remained a communicant member of the
Church of England throughout his life he argues in A Letter Concerning
­Toleration for the separation of Church and State (Locke 1993: 397–402;
see also Jolley 2016: 36, 44, 122, 139–41).
One of the most important practical applications of Locke’s political prin-
ciples was in the early United States where many of the liberal founders also
believed in the separation of church and state. The argument is summed up
memorably in a letter of Thomas Jefferson, while serving as the third President
of the new Republic, to the Danbury Baptist Association:

Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between man
and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his
worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and
not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole
American people which declared that their legislature should ‘make no law
respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise
thereof,’ thus building a wall of separation between Church and State….
(Jefferson 1802)

Jefferson took the argument of the religious neutrality of the state and of educa-
tion so seriously that when he later founded the University of Virginia he stipu-
lated not only that it should have no religious tests for membership (unlike, for
example, the universities of Oxford and Cambridge) but that there should be
no teaching of theology.
This view of the importance of setting up institutional arrangements to
ensure that people are free to choose their religious beliefs rather than have
them imposed by a dominant religious body is central to the development of
liberalism and so must play a large part in a liberal theory of education. But, as
populists argue, this raises questions about the foundations of stability and
order in a liberal society. Viktor Orbán, for example, argues that Roman
­Catholicism is an integral part of the cultural and moral fabric of Hungarian
society and so its theological and ethical principles should form an important
part of the education of Hungarian students.9
There is an important sense in which religious belief is not the central issue
here. Rather, it is the importance of having a belief system which is sufficiently
widely shared in society to provide a foundation for the values by which the
members of that society can relate to each other. What is most required, as was
suggested earlier (pp. 56–7), is a solid basis for creating and maintaining order
and stability in society. There are echoes here of Plato’s idea of the noble lie,
 John Locke  59
but there is also a significant difference. Not just any set of beliefs will do, even
if the education system seeks to reinforce them over a long period of time.
Orbán, it will be recalled, was a fierce critic of communism, even though he had
grown up in a Hungarian society and was educated in a Hungarian education
system which taught the principles of Marxism-Leninism. One of the problems
with the Hungarian Communist system, in this view, was that it was something
artificially imposed on Hungarian society by outsiders. For Orbán, the liberal
principles of the European Union and of the CEU are similarly at variance with
Hungarian culture.
If the issue is the necessity of a shared belief system which can provide the
basis of a stable community, what implications does this have for liberalism?
What do, or should, liberals teach as the foundations of liberal society which
can have the same emotional impact as the traditional culture and values of a
society? Populists argue that abstract principles such as human rights or
regarding oneself as a citizen of the world inspired by a cosmopolitan belief in
the moral oneness of humanity can never have sufficient emotional appeal to the
majority of people. These are beliefs for the wealthy educated elites who are
graduates of institutions such as the CEU. Moreover, they contend, these are
principles which, if widely adopted, will lead to a critical spirit which, far from
leading to the liberal ideal of autonomous, critically-minded individuals living
harmoniously in a stable society, will result in cynicism and social decay.

Education and civility

There is a sense in which Locke’s argument side-steps the issue of foundations
because he takes it for granted that almost everyone in his society accepts the basic
principles of Christianity. In A Letter Concerning Toleration he argues that the
freedom to worship following their own beliefs should be extended to Protestant
Dissenters and to followers of other faiths. There are, though, a number of con-
ditions attached, two of which are particularly relevant to our discussion. The first
is that holding such beliefs must not commit a person to accepting an external reli-
gious authority as having precedence over the ruler (and the laws) of one’s own
country. For this reason he did not think it appropriate to extend toleration to
Roman Catholics, because their first allegiance was to the Pope nor to those
Moslems who ‘… yield blind obedience to the Mufti of Constantinople, who is
himself entirely obedient to the Ottoman Emperor …’ (Locke 1993: 426). There
are some similarities here with contemporary populist arguments over migration,
such as the refusal of the governments of Hungary and Poland to accept refugees
from Moslem countries. For Locke, and perhaps to some extent for contemporary
populists, the argument is primarily political rather than religious. The funda-
mental issue is allegiance to one’s own state and Locke’s readers would have
­realised that he was indirectly criticising the many prominent British Roman Cath-
olics, including the King’s brother, the Duke of York, who owed allegiance to the
King of France as the political leader of European Catholicism.
The second condition is that in order to be tolerated people must believe in
God on the grounds that ‘[p]romises, covenants, and oaths, which are the bonds
60  John Locke
of human society, can have no hold upon an atheist’ (Locke 1993: 426). In the
next sentence he reiterates the point in more metaphysical terms: ‘The taking
away of God, though but even in thought, dissolves all’. This argument is more
directly about the importance of religious belief, and has echoes in the arguments
of East Central European (and Russian Orthodox) populist arguments about the
decadence of the liberal, secular West. But like the first argument it is primarily
about who can be trusted to be a member of society.
These two arguments imply a background of shared political and religious
values and it is against this background of a common culture that Locke’s belief
that the teaching of critical thinking is an important part of education must be
understood. When this is done it seems to place limits on the curiosity and
independence of mind which should be cultivated through education. How, if
at all, can this be reconciled with the earlier claim that Locke’s general epis-
temology contributed substantially to a recognition of the importance of critical
thought and of the autonomy of the individual, and to the development of lib-
eralism and to liberal theories of education? Locke’s response to such criticisms
is that an education which encourages critical thinking and the development of
personal autonomy can only be effective in a community where there is recogni-
tion of the value and importance of a well-ordered society and, of crucial
importance, one in which relationships are characterised by civility.
The importance of civility is widely discussed in contemporary society, where
it is often feared that lack of civility towards those with whom one disagrees is
contributing to the breakdown of tolerance and undermining social institu-
tions.10 These concerns are very much in evidence in Locke’s account of society
and of education. In an important passage in Some Thoughts, where Locke
stresses the importance of civility in discussion, he defines civility as ‘being, in
truth, nothing but a care not to show any slighting, or contempt, of anyone in
conversation’ (Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section 145) and argues that civil
discussion is best undertaken by people who are virtuous – virtue being more
important, and more to be valued in a person, than even curiosity or critical
thinking (Locke 1989: Section 147). This is in marked contrast to the Socratic
Method, which involves persistent and insistent attempts to show the absurdity
of the other person’s point of view and which often led to exasperation with
Socrates’ relentless negative questioning. It is also relevant to Mill’s discussion
of debate and argument in On Liberty, which draws on the Socratic Method
and which we will discuss later. Both Socrates and Mill regard incivility as
­desirable under some circumstances as a means of disrupting the status quo and
bringing about change in society. This is particularly important with regard to
the argument in the previous chapter that Socrates’ constant questioning and
debunking of other peoples’ opinions (particularly those of the experts who
Socrates says in the Apology (21b–4a) that he particularly sought out) has a
populist edge which is potentially destructive of the basis of society.
Populist rhetoric, through being divisive and attacking an elite ‘other’ in
society, has often seemed to its critics to lack civility. This is not incidental to
populism because a key populist claim is that ‘the people’ have in the past been
misled into accepting the economically and politically unjust system under
 John Locke  61
which they live. This has been accomplished through a variety of methods,
including a media owned and controlled by members of the elite. The most
important means, though, is an education system designed to perpetuate the
power of the elite by providing a superior education for their own children
while simultaneously indoctrinating the great majority of children with a false
understanding of the world, designed to keep them in subordination. Because
these false beliefs have been internalised, and perhaps also because the deficient
education has not provided any intellectual tools to properly challenge these
beliefs, the only way the people and their true representatives can respond is by
disputing the dominant narrative through aggressive rhetoric. This approach is,
as we will see in the next chapter, much favoured by Rousseau who equated
civility with social conventions intended to enhance the power of an elite and
mystify the great majority of people who were overawed by it. Rousseau’s
­writings abound with criticisms of polite society, both for its intellectual, as well
as its economic, exclusiveness and for its lack of moral sincerity.
These populist criticisms have some force when applied to some aspects of
particular liberal societies but how applicable are they to Locke? It is important
to emphasise to begin with that Locke does not regard civility merely as a set of
social conventions. He acknowledges that social customs are very different
between different societies but distinguishes between these external expressions
and the inner morality which is transcultural. The ‘language’, as he puts it, of
these customs has to be learnt if we are to express the ‘internal civility of the
mind’. Civility, and the specific cultural language in which it is spoken, is only
of value if it reflects a mind in which there is a ‘… general good-will and regard
for all people …’ (Locke 1824: Some Considerations, Section 143).11
It was noted earlier that while Locke thinks that one purpose of education is
to teach critical thinking, another is to prepare the child to become a respons-
ible citizen. This second aim is, to use Locke’s term, to enable the child to
become a ‘virtuous’ member of society (Locke 1968: 241–5). To this end, it is
not the purpose of a sound education to encourage the development of a
­specialist interest and expertise in some field of knowledge. As we have seen,
Locke is dismissive of the need for most people to acquire detailed knowledge
of a subject, beyond what can be useful to them in their adult lives.
Locke discusses these virtues at length. They include respect for others,
exhibited in civility towards one’s equals and inferiors (Locke 1989: Sections
109, 117) alongside other virtues such as courage and liberality.12 The cultivation
of these virtues is essential to the well-being and continuation of a liberal society
and it is part of the duty of the educator to ensure that the child acquires them
and learns to live in accordance with them. Education is not, therefore, essen-
tially child-centred but has the well-being of the future adult, and the society in
which he is expected to play a significant part, as its ultimate purpose.
This might be expressed by saying that while the Two Treatises is concerned
with the role of the citizen in society, Some Thoughts is concerned (at least in
significant part) with preparing young people to take their place in that society
as good citizens. Yolton and Yolton express this succinctly when they write that
while, ‘civil society has the task of protecting the person, education has the task
62  John Locke
of producing persons’ (Locke 1989: Introduction, 18). But this ‘production’ is
not impersonal in the cold way in which Watson refers to his ability to turn the
child into any kind of person he wishes. Rather, as we have seen, Locke
­considers the best type of education to be that which takes place within the
caring environment of the family.
Yolton and Yolton go on to argue that this account of education lays
­particular stress on a person’s moral development:

It would only be a slight exaggeration to say that Locke’s Some Thoughts is

mainly a treatise on moral education.… While Locke writes about educat-
ing the son of a gentleman, his treatise is less about gentlemen than it is
about developing a moral character.
(Locke 1989: Introduction, 18)

This is an important point in the context of the populist criticism; that liberal
societies have a tendency to encourage self-centred individuals who lack a sense
of belonging to, and responsibility towards, a wider community.
Yolton and Yolton argue further that Locke’s concern with moral education was
not primarily a matter of preparing the child for the life of an English gentleman
but of believing that ‘virtue was the very fabric and basis for humanity. Man’s
humanity is achieved within civil society’ (Locke 1989: Introduction, 39).13
Locke’s defence of civility does not imply that one should agree to other
peoples’ opinions out of politeness, without demurring. Locke’s own views on
religion, for example, are far from orthodox and the idea of religious toleration,
which will almost certainly involve disagreeing with people over matters of pro-
found personal belief, is a central aspect of Locke’s political thought. But Locke
also believes that it is essential that these disagreements be expressed within the
boundaries laid down by society for responsible discussion. For this reason,
roughness of speech and manner (‘the sure badge of a clown’), contempt, cen-
soriousness and captiousness (Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section 143) are all
dismissed by Locke as unacceptable.
Locke’s view of education, therefore, requires a considerable emphasis on
civility. But this does not mean teaching civility as a subject alongside of others,
rather it requires that the teaching and learning of civility are (to use a modern
phrase) embedded across the curriculum. Children learn to be civil through
their daily interactions with teachers and others so that it becomes an integral
part of their characters. If such an education is successful they grow up contrib-
uting to a society which is both stable and tolerant.
Attractive as such an education may seem, Teresa Bejan (2016, 2017) in
Mere Civility argues that it can lead to a kind of intolerance. She argues that for
many seventeenth century proponents of toleration (including Locke) the
primary motivation for supporting toleration was a return to (or replacement
for) the pre-Reformation ideal of Concordia: a harmonious peace based on
shared Christian belief. This in turn lead Locke to latitudinarianism, a theologi-
cal and ecclesiological doctrine in post-Restoration England which sought to
encompass as many varieties of Christian belief and practice as possible within a
 John Locke  63
national Church. The problem with this from a liberal perspective is that it
necessarily excluded those who could not subscribe to the minimal creed.14
Allowing education to take place outside the auspices of the state, particularly in
the family, then, does not properly resolve the problem that it might promote
certain shared values because many people in Restoration England shared the
same broadly Christian values.15
This argument then sees Locke’s theory of education as placing greater
emphasis on stability than toleration. For Locke (as we have seen), such an
education places positive duties on individuals, including the cultivation of
virtues, and that these virtues are to be shared not merely as moral principles,
but embodied in the individuals who are to live in that society. This argument
can be extended further in that the capacity for inner civility is bound up with
the much broader group of virtues which Locke discusses in Some Thoughts and
which together contribute to the development of a person whose morality (and
character) find expression in (among other things) civility. Education in the
virtues as a whole is, therefore, essential for a sound education.
As Bejan points out, Locke’s stress on the central importance of civility in
Some Thoughts emphasises inner civility, rather than merely outward formalities.
This civility is central to the functioning of a tolerant society which is based on
trust in the integrity of one’s fellow citizens. This is why, according to Locke,
atheists, who cannot believe in ultimate moral principles, or Roman Catholics
and Moslems who owe allegiance to authorities outside of their society, cannot
be trusted and therefore should not be tolerated. The intolerance is not simply a
disagreement about religious beliefs, or the absence of them, but of the kind of
person who one is willing to accept as a member of one’s society.
Bejan argues that Locke viewed religious communities, from a political
­perspective, as social organisations – (Bejan 2017: 129–31). From this per-
spective, the government should be indifferent to the views of church members,
while they contented themselves with merely internal, religious matters. If,
however, they engage in political activity, that becomes a matter of legitimate
interest to the state. This is the case even where their political engagement
(or even potential engagement) is based on their religious convictions – such as
Roman Catholics or those Moslems who owed their spiritual allegiance to the
Mufti of Constantinople.
This brings us back to the argument that because Locke’s philosophy of
education is based upon adherence to the liberal political philosophy which
underpins his theory of education it will inevitably lead to an education system
which, despite claims to moral, religious and political impartiality, privileges
those who support liberal values. Although this would not have been thought
of as problematic by those of Locke’s contemporaries who shared his liberalism,
it does seem difficult to reconcile with a more developed version of liberalism
such as Mill’s.
There is a further aspect to this argument which may also raise problems for
liberalism. Locke, as we discussed earlier, and as Bejan’s argument underlines,
maintains that it is not merely a matter of teaching the principles of virtues such
as civility but of ensuring that they are internalised so that they become part of a
64  John Locke
child’s character. This is problematic because it suggests that it will be very
­difficult for the child, or the adult he or she will grow into, to challenge the
belief in any of these virtues. Is it not the case, as populists argue, that liberals
such as Locke are just as concerned to prevent critical thinking about their
values as liberals accuse populists of doing about the fundamental values they
espouse?

Critical thinking and autonomy

Joseph Carrig offers a variation on this argument in particularly strong terms,
made all the more powerful, he maintains, because he is arguing from a liberal
standpoint. He argues that Locke’s prescription for a sound education in Some
Thoughts, has a strong emphasis on the inculcation of appropriate habits and on
fear of parental authority. If successful, such an education would lead to the
indoctrination of children into liberal principles with the result that such
­children, and the adults they grew into, would be incapable of thinking critically
about such principles (Carrig 2001). Carrig’s argument is part of a larger dis-
cussion about Locke’s philosophy of education which turns in part upon the
question of whether Locke’s account of education amounts to a process which
encourages the uncritical internalisation of liberal values by children. Rita
Koganzon has characterised the views of Carrig and others who argue in a
similar vein as inspired by Foucault’s arguments concerning ‘internalized social
discipline as a means of large scale social control’ (Koganzon 2016: 547).
Although Carrig’s intent is very different, the conclusion of his argument has
similarities to the populist view which characterises education in liberal societies,
and in liberal institutions such as the CEU, as produced by the liberal elite for
the reproduction of liberal values.
It is certainly true that Locke’s theory of education is based upon the belief
that a liberal society is superior to other forms of society. He has a particular
illiberal society in mind, that which he believes Charles II and James II were
committed to bringing about, based on the theory of the Divine Right of
Kings, but Locke’s particular form of liberalism, based on a belief in the univer-
sality of natural rights, is in principle opposed to all forms of illiberal society,
including those, such as Plato’s, which are based on very different political and
religious ideas.
Yet at the same time, the liberal education envisaged by Locke aims to create
individuals who are taught to be critical and so contains within itself the
impetus for self-analysis and self-criticism. Koganzon argues that Locke is aware
of the dangers of habituation but that he believes that the acquisition of bad
habits is a widespread problem in society and that an education which develops
good habits of critical analysis is a powerful defence against such bad habits. She
also makes the very important point that for Locke education ‘occurs in the
context of the uneasiness of the mind, a condition of perpetual dissatisfaction
from which it reflexively seeks relief wherever it can’ (Koganzon 2016: 556).16
The argument that liberal education may create individuals who simply
repeat the principles and values of liberalism without properly understanding or
 John Locke  65
applying them is a reasonable one in so far as there is no guarantee that children
will be sufficiently motivated to think for themselves, or that they will do so as
adults. Yet examples of such outcomes in a liberal society would, in Locke’s
view, be the consequence of bad teaching, of a failure to simulate and encour-
age the uneasiness of mind in the pupil. If that were repeated in a recognisable
and significant pattern across society that might indicate not merely the failure
of individual teachers but of the education system as a whole. It might also
reflect the inability of the liberal society to nurture a suitable education system
which might, in turn, in the case of an advanced democracy, be evidence of
political decay.
This point may be illustrated by reference to Locke’s emphasis on the
importance of active, rather than passive thinking in education. He makes this
point very clearly in a discussion of reading in Conduct, referred to earlier
(pp.  48–9), in which he emphasises the importance of an active engagement
with what one reads: ‘Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of know-
ledge, it is thinking makes what we read ours’ (Locke 1824: Conduct, Section 20).
Children should be taught to read in a critical way, so that they learn the habit
of questioning what they read. The emphasis on the kinds of habits to be incul-
cated by education – reading critically and with a questioning mind, here –
rather than being told what to think is central to Locke’s understanding of
education.
Critics such as Carrig err in neglecting the importance to Locke of education
involving an understanding and application of virtues which are simultaneously
individual and social. The education of the person and of the citizen take place
simultaneously.17 One learns to become a virtuous person, Locke argues, through
social interactions. One reason why Locke is opposed to boarding schools is that a
child will be in the wrong type of company. But it is equally important that if he
is educated at home he will be able to socialise not only with his parent and sib-
lings but also with the adult society of which his parents are a part. Socialising in
such a positive way encourages the child to learn different perspectives and to
recognise the need to weigh up competing arguments.
Locke does not assume that people are good by nature until they are
­corrupted by society. He does believe, as his warnings of the dangers of boarding
schools make clear, that some elements of society can be corrupting (he no doubt
has similar thoughts about the court of Charles II) but people have to be taught
to be good and if sufficient pupils grow up to be virtuous members of society that
will have a positive influence on the society in which they live, either to reinforce
its goodness or to reform it to make it a better society. Naturally a young child
does not understand all this and initially has to be told how to act and to be
­punished if he wilfully disobeys. But as the child matures so the relationship with
the teacher changes, so that eventually child and teacher become friends and
equals. What enables this change to take place is the child’s gradual realisation of
the need to take responsibility for his actions and opinions.
Locke’s belief in the importance of education taking place within the family
is significant for Carrig’s argument that Locke’s proposed method of education
relies on fear, particularly fear of the father. Carrig’s argument places considerable
66  John Locke
reliance on fear of the father because he believes that physical pain is one of the
ways in which children are forced to internalise what they are being taught. His
claim, though, is at odds both with an explicit argument in Some Thoughts and
an important contemporary recollection of Locke by a close friend of Locke’s
own experience and practice.
The argument concerns Locke’s disapproval (in almost all cases) of corporal
punishment. The use of corporal punishment to force children to act in accord-
ance with the teacher’s wishes, and to apply themselves to learning out of fear
of physical pain, would contribute to an education which discourages reflection –
children acquire information and a semblance of learning because they afraid,
not because they are engaged critically with the material they are supposed to
be studying. Such a view of education has much more in common with Friere’s
banking model of education than one which seeks to prepare a child to be an
active citizen in a liberal society. This argument is closely linked to the import-
ance of civility, which is built on mutual respect, not fear. Locke does argue that
‘fear and awe ought to give you the first power over their minds [that is, those
of young children]’, but immediately continues the sentence: ‘and love and
friendship in riper years to hold it’ (Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section 42).
Far from fear creating habits of thought, children who have been terrorised into
repeating what their teachers have taught them are likely to reject what they
have been taught once they have escaped the teacher’s influence.
In her memoir of Locke, Damaris Masham writes that Locke always spoke of
his father with respect and affection and expressed gratitude that while his father
had treated him sternly as a young child, he had treated him increasingly as a
friend as he grew into manhood (Woolhouse 2007: 6). The acceptance by the
father of the son as a friend and an equal signifies that the child has grown into
a mature, virtuous person capable of rational discussion and of the sociability
which makes friendship possible. This goes hand in hand with the recognition
that the final stage of his education has been successfully achieved and he is
­prepared to enter society as a mature and independent adult.

Growth or transformation
It is very important to emphasise at this point that for Locke the process of
education is one of growth not transformation. Rousseau argues that it is only
through a process of transformation that a child brought up in modern society
can become liberated – it will always involve a radical break with the prevailing
norms. Plato, too, believes that only a radical break with current society can
lead to people becoming just. For Locke there is no need for such a radical
transformation because he believes that the education he is advocating can take
place in the relatively healthy society of late seventeenth century England which
provides the environment in which the child can develop into a mature adult.
The ‘relatively’ in the last sentence of the previous paragraph is important.
Locke thought that the society of Restoration England was far from perfect but
for all the personal as well as political corruption of Charles II and his court,
Locke did not believe that society as a whole was irredeemable. He played a
 John Locke  67
major part through his own political activity, as a member of Shaftsbury’s circle
and as an active supporter of William and Mary, in helping to change that
society in ways that he would have considered much for the better. But unlike
Plato and Rousseau (or, indeed, the Quaker enthusiasts he is so critical of in the
Essay), the change was to be one of reform rather than revolution, of growth
rather than fundamental transformation. In this respect Locke helped lay the
foundations of a liberal state based on law and gradual change.
Locke’s view contrasts sharply with Rousseau’s. For Rousseau, a child is born
naturally good and becomes corrupted by society. That is why Emile has to be
educated in isolation from society. This is not at all for the same reason that
Locke has for discouraging parents from sending their children to boarding
school. Locke wants children not only to be in the company of their parents
and the wider household but also the company of family friends and acquaint-
ances who will help the child learn how to live in society.
Although I shall be arguing in the next chapter that Rousseau’s ideas have
had a strong influence on populism, an argument can also be made that Locke’s
view of education, society and virtue addresses some of the concerns that
underpin populist approaches to democracy. Among the criticisms that popu-
lists make of many governments in liberal democratic societies is the complaint
that members of those governments form an elite who consider ordinary people
to be too ignorant to understand the intricacies of economic and social policies
and too selfish to act altruistically. Such arguments are not new – as we saw in
Chapter 2, variations of this were often deployed, both by elites and their
critics, in Ancient Greece. Locke’s argument that his considerations on educa-
tion were appropriate to the education of a gentleman, and not the majority of
working men (let alone women), may reasonably be seen to have contributed to
the preservation of an elitist view of education. But it is possible to suppose that
a more developed version of Locke’s theory would argue that everyone should
receive a similar education and, as a consequence, the gulf between highly edu-
cated elites and the rest would shrink dramatically. This was the vision of nine-
teenth and twentieth century liberals and progressives, in both politics and
education, such as Mill. This view would not entirely rule out specialists but, as
Mill argues in Considerations On Representative Government, the specialists
should be under the control of those who directly represent (and are answerable
to) an electorate comprising the vast majority of the adult population.

Notes
  1 Voltaire’s enthusiastic discussion of Locke’s philosophy in his Letters on England, first
published in 1734, helped confirm Locke’s reputation among the philosophes
­(Voltaire 1980: 62–7).
  2 They did not think this of all governments. For Voltaire, the best form of govern-
ment was that which could be guided by an enlightened absolutist, a ruler who was
well educated in the natural sciences and the arts and who could use his or her power
to bring about radical improvements. Voltaire believed, for a while at least, that
­Frederick the Great embodied this ideal (Blanning 2015: 329–35). This idea that
well-educated rulers know best seems to critics to be perilously close to Plato’s
idea that the philosopher rulers cannot be challenged. Populists claim liberals are
68  John Locke
­articularly prone to this error which leads them to trust experts and to favour
p
­educational policies which are most likely to produce people with such expertise.
Rousseau, as we will see in the next chapter, is particularly scathing of this belief in
enlightened rulers. Jefferson and Madison, naturally, did not think that as Presidents
they were corrupt but despite having strong claims to being the most learned and
most liberal rulers of the age of Enlightenment, they did recognise the need to limit
the power of all rulers.
  3 Jefferson and Madison also had concerns about entrusting too much power to those
without the education and leisure to make well-reasoned decisions but recognising
this problem they thought that providing education was essential if the United States
was to develop into a truly free society.
  4 There are excellent modern editions of each of these works, which are indicated in
the text, and I will refer to introductions and editorial notes from some of these
during this chapter. All quotations from Locke’s texts are taken from the 12th
edition of his works (Locke 1824) unless otherwise indicated. An Essay Concerning
Human Understanding is to be found in Volumes 1 and 2, Of the Conduct of the
Understanding is also in Volume 2 and Some Thoughts Concerning Education in
Volume 8.
  5 Locke was particularly concerned to preserve the secrecy of his authorship of the Two
Treatises. Arguably the principle reason for this was his fear that if the Revolution of
1688 were overturned and James II restored to the throne there would be reprisals
against Locke for arguments in the Two Treatises which could be construed as critical
of James. No such considerations applied to Some Thoughts.
  6 This is not to say that patriotism and belief in the importance of national identity are
necessarily based only on feelings and not at all on reason. Mill, for example, believes,
as we will discuss in Chapters 5 and 6, that both can be defended on rational
grounds. At the same time he also argues that the feelings stirred by identification
with a nation can lead one astray unless kept under the control of reason.
  7 Locke’s criticisms of what he termed religious ‘Enthusiasts’ in his Essay (Locke 1975:
Book IV, Chapter 19) are also relevant here. Such people, he argues, effectively give
up their right to speak on matters which require them to have their own well-reasoned
opinions, because they prefer to depend on the authority of others. Locke shows a
general distrust of clericalism for similar reasons.
 8 The place of an established Church was the subject of bitter debate during the
Restoration period, with many Anglicans fearful that Charles II, and more especially
James II, wished to disestablish the Church of England and establish the Roman
Catholic Church in its place. Protestant Dissenters objected to any established
national church.
  9 The objection that the Hungarian government has to the teaching of Gender Studies
at the CEU is based on its view that it undermines Roman Catholic teaching on
topics such as the family, which it believes are essential to the well-being of Hungarian
society.
10 Barack Obama, for example, frequently urged the need for greater civility during his
presidency.
11 After Locke’s death, Coste and Damaris Masham wrote memoirs of him and the por-
trait they draw of his character suggests how Locke envisages the practical outcome
of his educational advice: a person of great civility, open minded and constantly open
to learning new things (see Woolhouse 2007: 94–5). Both emphasise his eagerness
to learn about practical, ‘mechanical’, matters and a desire to follow evidence rather
than being guided by abstract theories, points which he emphasises in the education
of a young man and which separates him sharply from Plato.
12 Nathan Tarcov provides a detailed account of the Lockean virtues (see Tarcov 1984:
Chapter 3).
13 They also stress the importance of understanding this in the Christian tradition of
moral thinking, but this does not mean that Locke thought that civility was only pos-
sible in European societies. As Teresa Bejan points out, he thought that Native
Americans were better exemplars of civility than (many) Europeans (Bejan 2017).
14 See Bejan 2017: Chapter 1, especially 41–3 on the potential for exclusion.
 John Locke  69
15 It is arguable that the opposition to the Roman Catholic James II and the success of
the so-called ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 led to the preservation and entrench-
ment of Protestant culture in England. In doing so it narrowed the set of values
which were to form an important part of most children’s education until well into
the nineteenth century.
16 This notion of uneasiness as a stimulus to critical – and creative – thinking is
developed more fully in Mill’s work – see Chapters 5 and 6 of this volume.
17 It might be tempting to say that they are so interconnected that they are indistin-
guishable, but this would be to misread Locke. The individual is not defined wholly
in terms of citizenship – that is something which is only a part of what it is to be a
person.
4 Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Education, Emile and remaking
society

Rousseau and populism

Rousseau lived during a time that is often described as the Age of Reason. It
was a period in which the arbitrary rule of absolutist monarchs was challenged
by intellectuals who followed Locke (in many cases quite consciously and delib-
erately so) in asserting the importance of individual liberty and the need to test
one’s own beliefs and the policies of governments against the standard of
empirically based reason. Many of these same intellectuals – artists and scientists
as well as philosophers – considered themselves as citizens if not of the world at
least of the cosmopolitan society of Europe.
Rousseau shares this dislike of arbitrary rule but he goes further and criticises
almost all governments, including those whose leaders on occasion offered him
financial and moral support, even Frederick the Great who offered safe sanctu-
ary against those who wished him dead (Blanning 2015: 326–9). He believes
that the societies of Europe, and the elites who rule them, are corrupt.
He detests cosmopolitanism, most especially the pan-European cosmopoli-
tanism of men like Voltaire. There are no longer Frenchman, Germans or
Spaniards – not even Englishmen – he writes near the end of his life, in
­
­Considerations on the Government of Poland, just Europeans who share ‘the
same tastes, the same passions, the same morals’ (Rousseau 2019b: 187–8).1
This anti-Europeanism is not new, as a younger man he pours scorn – of which
he is a master – on the Abbe St Pierre’s plan for a European Union with its own
parliament, which the Abbe offered to the cultured men and women of Europe
as a blueprint for perpetual peace on the continent (Rousseau 1991: 88–100).
He hates the intellectual elites whose clever, abstract thinking ignores the
natural, unsophisticated wisdom of the ordinary people. In the work which first
brought him international fame, and his first taste of notoriety, Discourse on the
Sciences and Arts, he argues that highly educated intellectuals are too far
removed by their rarefied education from the natural wisdom of the general
populace who know in their hearts what is best for their society. Much elite
education leads to empty speculation and it would be far better if educators
ignored the frivolous pursuit of ‘higher truths’ such as are supposed to be found
in abstract sciences like geometry and in the natural sciences such as physics,
both of which are merely empty speculation. The same argument also applies to
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  71
such apparently altruistic studies as moral philosophy which in fact is based on
pride (clever people telling the rest of us how to live) (Rousseau 1992: 12).
Rousseau, in other words, sounds rather like a modern-day populist.
Like modern populists, Rousseau believes that the society of his own day is
corrupt and that the education system is an important element in maintaining
and legitimising that corruption. Such education, he writes, ‘adorns our minds
and corrupts our judgements’ (Rousseau 1992: 17). The belief that con-
temporary education is designed to adorn the mind, in the way that fashionable
clothes are thought to adorn the man or woman in order to make them attrac-
tive in society, is a powerful image, expressing Rousseau’s disdain for what he
believes is its corrosive effect on the mind and morals of society. In pursuit of
this end, children are taught dead languages and the ability to construct clever
arguments but they are not taught those things which are conducive to true
happiness and well-being. Education corrupts not only in a material, or even
just a political, way but most fundamentally in a moral sense: it corrupts the
heart of children, so that ‘… they will not know what the words magnanimity,
equity, temperance, humanity, courage are; that sweet name Fatherland will
never strike their ear …’ (Rousseau 1992: 17–18). He detests the selfishness,
love of luxury and, most fundamentally, the artificiality which he believes this
education has helped produce. People who have been subjected to such educa-
tion have no true moral understanding and their lives are, to employ a widely
used modern term which is much indebted to Rousseau, inauthentic.2 Like
actors in the theatre, they are merely playing a role over which they have no
control and beyond which they have no fixed identity.3 Society would be much
better served if we listened to those who lead a simple life seeking only to serve
their country, looking out for their friends and alleviating the suffering of their
fellow countrymen.
This does not mean that Rousseau is opposed to education as such and in
the Preface to Narcissus, written as a final response to the many criticisms which
Discourse on the Sciences and Arts attracted, he firmly rejects the claim that he
wishes ‘to proscribe science and learning, to burn our libraries, to close our
Academies, our Colleges, our Universities …’ (Rousseau 1992: 190). He does
not want to destroy educational institutions, but he does wish to radically
change them. Education can be of great benefit to both the individual and
society, but only when it has been purged of wrong values and attitudes and is
fit to prepare a child to become a responsible citizen, aware of his duties to
others. Unlike an education which encourages a delight in wealth and luxury
and a selfish pride which seeks to dominate others, it should produce an adult
citizen who understands that his true interests can only be understood and
brought to fruition in harmony with the rest of society. As one would expect
from his criticism of the arts and sciences, the ideal education would be practical
and general. He does not deny that some individuals can truly excel in the study
of the sciences, and he refers approvingly to the accomplishments of Bacon,
Descartes and Newton. But such geniuses would be hindered rather than
helped by the limitations of their teachers and they have to work out their ideas
by themselves (Rousseau 1992: 21).
72  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Although Rousseau is critical of some aspects of Discourse on the Sciences and
Arts in his later writings,4 throughout his life he rejects all forms of what he
regards as elitist politics and education. Like the other three writers discussed in
the book, Rousseau thought that education and politics were linked at a deep
level and, like Plato, he argues that a sound education is only possible in a just
society. The only truly just society Rousseau argues, most fully in The Social
Contract (Rousseau 2019b), is one in which sovereignty is not concentrated in
one person or a small elite but in all the citizens of the state. It is not enough,
though, for the sovereign to be comprised of all the citizens. It would be quite
possible for such a sovereign citizen body to act unjustly, indeed, under the
conditions existing in the European society of his own day, Rousseau would
have expected such a sovereign body to behave in precisely this way. This is
because the corruption of the society in which its members live clouds their
understanding and their judgement to the extent that they often they do not
know what is in the true interest of their state, or of themselves. What is
required is a sovereign citizen body which expresses the general will, a concept
which, as discussed in Chapter 1, features in many accounts of populism. To
bring about such a citizen body requires a fundamental transformation of
society, and of the education provision which will be vital to its continued
well-being.
It is tempting to think that Rousseau envisages a utopian ideal society and it
is possible on one reading to suppose that Rousseau is arguing that the society
envisaged in The Social Contract will indeed be perfect, but this is not quite
what he believes. He argues, rather, for the less ambitious view – which is also a
major theme in populist political rhetoric – that it is possible to imagine a
society which, although it may have flaws and potential weaknesses, is radically
better than the corrupt societies of contemporary Europe.5
The purpose of education in the radically different society envisaged by
Rousseau is to develop and maintain stability through instilling the values of the
community into succeeding generations so that they may give expression to the
general will. Does this mean that it is impossible to provide a child with a
proper education when such a just society does not exist? Rousseau thinks that
it is possible, but with significant limitations. This leads Rousseau to offer two
views of how a sound education might be provided.
The first involves removing the child from a corrupt society and educating
him in isolation. This is the solution he explores in Emile. The other is to seek
to remove the corruption in society by bringing about a radical transformation
of its political and cultural life; a process in which a purified and patriotic educa-
tion system will play a central role. This latter alternative is explored at greatest
length, though even then in far fewer words than he devotes to Emile, in Con-
siderations on the Government of Poland (henceforth Poland; Rousseau 2019b).
This second account of education is reflected to some extent in populist educa-
tion policies such as those of Orbán’s Hungary, but it seems to be in conflict
with the ideas expressed in Emile. We will discuss both in turn, but I shall argue
that Rousseau sees these as two possible solutions to the same problem: given
that the elite culture which dominates European society is deeply corrupt how is
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  73
it possible to educate a person so that they may escape the corruption? The
echoes of this question in the education policies of European populist move-
ments from the United Kingdom to Hungary and in the United States are
unmistakable.

Emile
Emile (Rousseau 1979) is a rich and multi-layered work which defies easy
­categorisation: part novel, part treatise on education and part general specula-
tion on a variety of philosophical, scientific and religious subjects. A long, theo-
logically unorthodox, section on religion, ‘Reflections of a Savoyard Priest’,
contributed to a hostile reception on its first publication, and led to the book
being publicly burned by both the Calvinist authorities in Geneva and the
Roman Catholic Church in Paris. The complexity of the book lends itself to
different interpretations and it has been treated to a whole gamut of responses,
ranging from the kind of fear and hatred which fuelled its burning in Geneva
and Paris to extravagant praise as an essential guidebook for progressive
educators.
The central theme of the book is the education of Emile, whose progress is
followed from childhood to early manhood.6 Emile’s tutor, through whom
Rousseau speaks, insists that the only conditions under which the child can be
properly educated, given the corruption that pervades almost all European soci-
eties, is to be removed from his family and society to live alone with his tutor in
the country. Once safely secluded in the countryside, the child is encouraged to
learn things for himself, rather than be a passive recipient of what a teacher tells
him. In this way, Rousseau explains, the child will have a much clearer under-
standing of what he is studying, and it will make a far deeper impression on
him. Rousseau also lays great emphasis on a child’s entitlement to happiness
and pleasure. Education should be a joy rather than the relentless chore which
he believes is true of the school education of his own day. In saying this he is
partly being pragmatic, a child who enjoys his education is likely to learn much
more than a child who dreads his lessons, but Rousseau is also motivated by a
concern for the well-being of the child. One example of this is when he points
out that because of the poor state of medical science at the time Emile was
written, the likelihood of a child reaching maturity is quite low. It is unfair to
burden the few years the child may have on earth with the miserable grind of a
joyless education (Rousseau 1979: 78–9, 107).
At a more philosophical level, Rousseau is also concerned with the well-
being of the individual and the importance of personal integrity. In that sense
his theory of education is deeply moral, but his morality is not that of the
orthodox Roman Catholics or Genevan Calvinists of his own day, which
explains in large part their ferocious response to Emile, and particularly to the
‘Reflections of a Savoyard Priest’. His emphasis is on the importance of being
honest to oneself and to one’s feelings, of being, in that sense, an authentic
person, in contrast to the inauthentic people who inhabit sophisticated societies.
The desirability of being removed from the pressures of the social life in a
74  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
corrupt society in order to live a genuinely authentic life is explored at length in
his novel Julie, or the New Heloise.
The words of Clare, early in the novel, reflect this.

For myself, who am not a great reasoner, I want nothing to do with an

honesty that betrays faith, trust, friendship; I imagine that every relation-
ship, every age has its maxims, its duties, its virtues, that what would be
prudence to others, would to me be perfidy, and that to lump everything
together, rather than making us virtuous, makes us wicked.
(Rousseau 1997: Letter VII Reply [Claire to Julie], 35)

In a similar vein, Julie writes in Letter IX that she was initially fearful of her own
feelings as she was falling in love because she grew up being taught rules that
made her feel guilty about her natural desires and emotions. This clash between
doing what is honest to oneself and one’s feelings rather than obeying the staid
conventions of (a corrupt and stultifying) society is one of the central themes of
the novel (Rousseau 1997: 40–2).
It is this emphasis on genuine feeling, of being true to oneself, rather than
the artificial constraints of society, which Rousseau wants Emile to learn and
embrace. This echoes Rousseau’s own disdain for what he sees as the artificiality
of European society and the need to escape its stifling conformity. It also
reflects his argument in Discourse on the Sciences and Arts that European culture
restricts rather than encourages natural goodness and undermines human happi-
ness. This has seemed to many people to be one of the noblest elements in
Rousseau’s philosophy of education and its influence on subsequent educational
thought has been immense.
Having set out the principle Rousseau has to explain how it might be applied
in practice. To this end, he says frequently in the novel that Emile is encouraged
to discover things for himself, rather than, as in the conventional education of
his time, simply being told what he must believe. Among the many examples
are Rousseau’s suggestions that he would not teach Emile geometry but that
Emile, through working out geometrical proofs for himself, would teach his
teacher (Rousseau 1979: 145) and that Emile would naturally first embrace
Ptolemaic astronomy because that is what accords with his initial experience,
but later, through greater experience, accept Copernicanism (Rousseau 1979:
Bloom’s footnote 1, 486).
Educationally this might seem progressive, and in many respects it is. Stu-
dents will usually learn more easily if they work things out for themselves: if,
like Emile, they conduct their own experiments in mechanics or learn about
botany by tending to plants. It is not surprising that many readers have seen in
this approach to learning by discovery in Emile a passionate belief in the
­autonomy of the child as among the primary purposes of education. Neverthe-
less, such an interpretation, attractive as it is to minds accustomed to
value education which promotes children’s critical thinking and the develop-
ment of autonomous individuals, underplays an essential element in Rousseau’s
understanding of what is involved here.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  75
Because education is by its very nature a social activity, learning cannot be
purely child-led. Encouraging the child to pursue a particular interest will cer-
tainly be easier if the student can be persuaded to think that he will enjoy learn-
ing about it, and even more if he thinks he has chosen it for himself, but in the
philosophy of education set out in Emile, the child is always being educated to
achieve a particular goal, even though for much of the time he is unaware of
this. To this end, the tutor is always guiding the child, not only in what he
should learn but also what he should avoid learning: those things which are
harmful or simply not useful, the inappropriate acquiring of which may be detri-
mental to the good of the child. Rousseau puts the point very clearly to avoid
any misunderstanding of what he is trying to achieve: ‘… the spirit of my
­education consists not in teaching the child many things, but in never letting
anything but accurate and clear ideas enter his brain’ (Rousseau 1979: 171).
There is certainly a positive element in Rousseau wanting the child to be
­preserved from inaccurate and unclear ideas, and he has in mind much of the
education of his own day which forces false and confusing ideas upon children.
This is true, he thinks, of the education offered by the fashionable elites which
aim only to adorn the mind. It is also true of the different but equally perni-
cious kind of education provided by priests who, unlike the Savoyard priest, are
neither liberally minded nor truly caring about those in their charge but seek to
indoctrinate them with the teachings of their church. In each case the result of
education is to close the mind.
Laudable as Rousseau’s aspirations are, there are nevertheless significant
limits on Emile’s autonomy, as is indicated by the gate-keeper implication in the
above quotation of ‘never letting anything but accurate and clear ideas enter his
brain’. The student may, for example, choose to conduct a scientific experiment
to test a hypothesis he has arrived at by observation, but the context in which
this choice is possible has already been established by the teacher. There is
nothing particularly remarkable about such practice. School children or univer-
sity undergraduates conducting scientific experiments in laboratories are doing
so in tightly controlled artificial environments in which the experiments have
been set up to demonstrate a particular theory. This arrangement is, from the
widely accepted Kuhnian perspective, a standard part of the education of a sci-
entist (Kuhn 1970: 45–7) and even if we substitute make-shift tools in a casual
environment the context is still artificial. That is what is to be expected if we
understand education to be a necessarily social activity. John Dewey’s criticism
in Experience and Education of progressive teachers who abdicate their respons-
ibility to guide children (Dewey 1936: Chapter 1) is appropriate here.
This is not problematic if the context-setting is something that pupils are
aware of, or, as Dewey, and also Locke, argue, they become aware of as they
mature, and their critical skills are developed. There is, though, a potentially
disturbing aspect to this precisely because of the very fact that education is a
social activity. Social interactions often involve power relations, particularly
teacher-pupil relationships, and this is certainly true of the relationship between
Emile and his teacher. It is not putting it too strongly to say that Emile is not
merely guided but manipulated at significant points in his education in order
76  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
that he may become the man that his teacher believes he ought to be. This is
exacerbated by the fact that Emile is, for much of his childhood, denied mean-
ingful contact with anyone other than his tutor, including with children of his
own age. Rousseau’s claim that Emile would first learn Ptolemaic astronomy,
because that is what accords with his initial experience and would later, through
greater experience, embrace Copernicanism is an example of this. Rousseau’s
suggestion that he would not teach Emile geometry, but that Emile would
teach him is reminiscent of Socrates and the slave boy in the Meno. In this
­dialogue a slave boy who has never studied geometry appears under close and
leading questioning by Socrates to remember complex mathematics learnt in a
previous life (Meno 80d–6b).
This is also evident in the tutor’s treatment of Emile and his future wife
Sophie in Emile Book V. Emile is led into thinking that his first meeting with
Sophie is accidental, though the tutor has arranged the encounter with Sophie’s
parents beforehand, and their courtship is controlled by the tutor. He even
takes it upon himself to advise them on their sexual relationship both on their
wedding day and later.7
This criticism is not meant to suggest bad intent on the part of Emile’s
tutor, or of Rousseau. The tutor clearly wishes the young Emile to grow into an
honest and confident man with a disdain for the artificiality of contemporary
society and a desire to live a simple life. Yet for all the genuine emphasis on the
well-being of the child, and of the importance of the child discovering for
himself, there is also something rather controlling about Rousseau’s theory of
education in Emile. Part of this is due to the intense relationship between the
tutor and pupil, but it also has to be seen in the context of Rousseau’s general
view of society and education. The child must be protected from the corruption
of the society around him and the constant temptation to embrace its decadent
attractions.
This stress on the removal from a corrupt society to be educated in a purer,
safer one is fundamental to Rousseau’s purpose in Emile. Despite Rousseau’s
unorthodox views of Christianity, there are similarities in the circumstances of
Emile’s education to parts of the Christian home-school movement whose pro-
ponents advocate withdrawing children from secular schools which, they argue,
corrupt children through teaching subjects such as evolution and by promoting
liberal ideas on sexuality and gender. Such measures would be unnecessary in a
truly Christian society where education would promote Christian values rather
than those of secularists, or those of other religions. It might appear to some of
these parents that the attempt to reform the Hungarian education system to
better reflect Roman Catholic values is a move towards such a society.
This last point is very much in the spirit of Rousseau, who believes that
although the kind of education which Emile experiences is far superior to any-
thing on offer in the schools of Europe, it also has significant limitations which
are forced upon it by the circumstances of time and place. To fully understand
why he thinks this is so, and as a bridge into his argument about what educa-
tion would be like in a just society, requires a discussion of Rousseau’s theories
of the state of nature and the social contract.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  77
From savage to citizen
The purpose of withdrawing the child from the influences of a corrupt society is
not with a view to encouraging the child to become wholly autonomous,
because Rousseau believes that such a condition is not possible. Rousseau cer-
tainly does want the child to be removed from the corrupting influence of the
particular society into which he was born, but he does not think it either desir-
able or possible to live as a rational moral being without a society of some kind.
This point is made more fully in The Social Contract when Rousseau argues that
entering into society enhances personal liberty by opening up opportunities
which the solitary life of the state of nature could not provide. Men become
transformed (Rousseau 2019b: Book I, Chapter 8 and Book II, Chapter 7). In
making this argument, Rousseau draws upon a theory of human nature
developed in his Discourse on Inequality (henceforth, Second Discourse).
In the Second Discourse Rousseau argues that in the state of nature, the ori-
ginal condition of humanity, people (or savages as Rousseau calls them, though
he means nothing pejorative by this term) lived solitary lives, rarely engaging
with others and then only for fleeting encounters. Even if people met more than
once they would probably not recognise each other and under such conditions,
society would not be possible. Some in modern society might find this life of
complete independence attractive, and even wish to live this way themselves,
but Rousseau is not one of them. It is, he says, pointless comparing the lot of
the asocial savages in the state of nature with that of people living in modern
society because their lives, and their expectations of what life has to offer, are so
utterly different (Rousseau 2019a: 146–8).
Leaving the state of nature and entering society is fraught with problems,
among the chief of which is the introduction of private property and the eco-
nomic inequality which it creates, but it also brings benefits, some potential,
some actual. Among these benefits are the development of sophisticated lan-
guages to replace the bare grunts of the savage and through that the provision
of education, neither of which would be possible without the transformation
which living in society brings about. Emile has this society in the person of his
teacher, who himself has lived within the wider society and is sufficiently mature
and wise to be able to guide Emile through his educational development.
It is extremely important to emphasise that for Rousseau the process of becom-
ing a member of society is in itself an educative experience. This is not meant in
the sense that one might describe a significant event in at a particular point in their
life as something from which they can learn because that would be to separate the
event from the process of education. For Rousseau being educated into the society
is one of the essential strands in becoming a member of that society. Education is
an essential part of what transforms an asocial man into a citizen.
Part of this education is informal, learning through interaction with others,
but there is a crucially important formal aspect as well in the role of the
­‘Lawgiver’. In The Social Contract Rousseau argues that social life becomes
­possible when people have left their asocial lives in the state of nature and come
together to live in a society under a social contract. But how can people who are
78  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
used to living in isolation become accustomed to living in a settled community?
How can they have an understanding of a peaceful, harmonious community at
all when they have no experience of the benevolent social institutions which
develop and nurture such communal life? In many historical cases, says Rous-
seau, the transition was accompanied by force, but he rejects this as the basis for
the just society which he envisages. In order to live harmoniously in society
the people need a set of basic laws which will guide them. As they are not
capable of creating these laws themselves, they need a Lawgiver who will be
wise enough to develop appropriate laws for them. Rousseau argues that as a
matter of fact it is better if the Lawgiver is not a member of that society, and
gives examples of societies which have invited outsiders to write their basic laws
for them.8 This has the obvious advantage that as the Lawgiver will not be
living under these laws he has no personal interest in advantaging any particular
­individuals or factions in drawing up the laws.
If the purpose of the Lawgiver were only to provide clear, rational, guide-
lines by which the citizens were expected to live, that would not be enough to
ensure that the laws were obeyed – people might simply ignore those laws
which they perceived to be against their particular self-interest. So Rousseau
also emphasises the importance of the Lawgiver in reshaping individuals into a
new community with shared values and a common sense of identity and
purpose.9 An additional role of the Lawgiver is to persuade the people to
embrace the laws and obey them because they believe they give expression to
something much more compelling than the mind of a man, however wise. The
Lawgiver must have the ability to convince the people that the laws are of divine
origin,10 an aspect of the Lawgiver’s function which is reminiscent of Plato’s
noble lie in the Republic. Rousseau’s conceptions of the roles of the Lawgiver in
society and of the teacher in education are strikingly close.

Poland: education for a just society

The solitary education of Emile, outside of society, is a second best, and it carries
a heavy burden. Emile is told that it is his moral duty as an adult to return to the
society from which he was withdrawn as a child and live as a just citizen as a
model for others to follow. Such a task will inevitably be difficult, and his fate may
be to suffer the misunderstanding and mockery encountered by Plato’s enlight-
ened philosopher descending back into the cave.11 The situation would be very
different if children could be educated within a just society, or at least one which
is on the way to reforming itself. Doing so would greatly enrich their experience
because they are being taught within a community of transformed people.
Geraint Parry captures this aspect of Emile in a powerful passage:

Beneath the apparently idyllic concluding pages of Emile there is the clear
sense that Rousseau is offering his reader only a second best. It is an educa-
tion for a profoundly unsatisfactory world, and it largely consists in learning
about it only to avoid it so far as is feasible.
(Parry 2001: 260)
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  79
Parry also argues that when Rousseau did attempt to set out, albeit in sketchy
form, something approaching a positive view of how education might be imple-
mented in a reformed contemporary society, such as in the Letter to
M. d’Alembert on the Theatre, or more substantially in Poland, his suggestions
were far less radical and were anyway unworkable because they could only be
applied in small societies (Parry 2001: 263–8). Whether the accounts of educa-
tion in Poland are less radical, and whether they are indeed unworkable, is a
question we now take up.
Poland was written many years after Emile so it might seem sensible to allow
for Rousseau changing, or at least modifying, his views in the intervening years
and not being too quick to assume that the educational philosophy which
Rousseau expounds in Poland dovetails with that of Emile. Yet Rousseau refers
in Poland to The Social Contract, saying quite explicitly the reader should refer
to his earlier work (Rousseau 2019b: 260). The Social Contract was written in
the same period as Emile, and as there are many points of overlap between them –
for example, the political philosophy which Emile is introduced to towards the
end of his education is, as Rousseau points out (Rousseau 1979: 462), a
summary of the key ideas presented in The Social Contract. We may reasonably
assume that Rousseau thought his discussion of education in Poland was com-
patible with the political philosophy developed in The Social Contract, and thus
of Emile.
There is a further point to make here. Although Poland was written for a
particular purpose it is also very helpful in seeing how Rousseau thought the
ideas of The Social Contract could be applied. Some of these applications might
strike the reader not so much as unworkable but as remarkably pragmatic. For
example, while Rousseau argues that it is right that the Polish serfs should be
liberated, he also warns against trying to accomplish this too quickly, arguing
that it should be undertaken over a period of time, during which they can be
educated to understand their responsibilities as citizens (Rousseau 2019b:
200–1). Poland can, in many respects, be read as a detailed attempt to apply the
principles of The Social Contract to a concrete political situation as a practical
exercise, or case study, of the general principles set out in the earlier work.
Both Emile and the discussion of education in Poland are embedded in the
broader political philosophy of The Social Contract and indeed there are many
detailed similarities. Perhaps the most important one comes towards the end of
Emile during a discussion of the duties of citizenship (Rousseau 1979: 473–4)
where Rousseau argues that Emile has a duty to his own homeland even though
it is corrupt. Living in the country, away from the vices of the city, is one way of
helping to minimise the effects of the corruption but it does not absolve the
adult Emile from the duties of citizenship.
Education has a key role in Poland as a means of building and encouraging a
strong identification with the community: ‘It is education that must give souls
the national form, and so direct their opinions and their tastes that they will be
patriotic by inclination, passion, necessity’ (Rousseau 2019b: 193). This is also
true of the original contract, but the circumstances under which the Polish
people enter a new social contract is different from the savages who have left the
80  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
state of nature. The Poles are already living in a corrupt society so their
­transition to a new social contract requires a different kind of adjustment. There
are parallels here with populist arguments in Hungary (and in the Law and
Order Party government in contemporary Poland!) about the corruption in
Western European Society (epitomised for many populists in the transnational
policies of the European Union) and the need to ensure that Hungarian (and
Polish) education should teach different, illiberal (and in these particular cases)
conservative Roman Catholic values. This is one of the fundamental reasons
behind Prime Minister Orbán’s disagreement with the CEU.12
This education is intensely nationalistic – children by the age of ten years
must know all the ‘products’ of the country, by the age of 12 its geography,
become acquainted with its ‘entire history’ by the age of 15 and with ‘all its
laws’ by 16 (Rousseau 2019b: 193). As in Emile, physical activity plays an
important part in learning, helping to make it enjoyable rather than dull and
boring. Significantly, and rather differently from Emile who is largely kept apart
from other children (Rousseau 2019b: 195), all children in the reformed
Poland which Rousseau envisages will spend much time together. He allows for
the possibility of being schooled at home (Rousseau 2019b: 195)13 but even
these children must gather with the others for communal games. This is not
simply to help make them physically strong and healthy but more importantly it
is a means of ‘accustoming them early on to rules, equality, fraternity and com-
petition’ and, it might be thought, rather disturbingly, ‘to live beneath the gaze
of their fellow citizens’ and desire public approval (Rousseau 2019b: 195).
There is clearly an important connection between the inculcation of values
and principles during the initial founding (or re-founding, in Poland’s case) of
the republic and the reiteration of those values in the continuing education of
people over generations. There are many echoes of Plato’s emphasis on educa-
tion as underpinning and sustaining the just state in his Republic, and those
who have been critical of Plato’s theory of education as a form of political and
social control have been inclined to draw the same conclusions about Rousseau.
But Rousseau’s argument, both in The Social Contract and Poland, has an addi-
tional element which might help to mitigate the force of this criticism.
As we have seen, Rousseau argues that not all states are suitable for the form
of self-government which he is advocating for Poland. Indeed, there have been
very few in history – Sparta and Republican Rome being the two most prom-
inent in Rousseau’s mind – and of the countries of eighteenth century Europe,
he only mentions – in addition to Poland and Corsica – Geneva and some of
the cantons of Switzerland as being suitable. The reason is that the people must
already share, or be very susceptible to, those values. The task of the Lawgiver,
then, is to work with what is good in the current values and mould it into a
coherent system of laws which the people will recognise as reflecting their
deepest values. Rousseau believes that Plato accepted this principle himself,
which is why he was unwilling to provide for the Arcadians and Cyrenians
(Rousseau 2019b: 74).
In The Social Contract Rousseau suggests that at the time he was writing the
only society in Europe which might be transformed along the lines he was
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  81
setting out was Corsica. It is difficult to know how seriously Rousseau had
c­ onsidered the situation in Corsica, and whether he was using the example to
contrast it with the more refined and cultured societies such as France which he
affected to despise. When he was later invited to write a constitution for a future
republic of Corsica he admitted that he had little detailed knowledge of
the country, but he also applauded what he regarded the rather coarse and
uncultivated lifestyle of the Corsicans.
In his Constitutional Proposal for Corsica (henceforth Corsica) Rousseau
acknowledges the great difficulty in reforming any society, even Corsica itself
(Rousseau 2012: 191). Democracy is best suited to small towns where citizens
can easily gather together. For a larger island republic like Corsica a mixed gov-
ernment is more appropriate, composed of both democratic and representative
elements (Rousseau 2012: 197–8).
Moreover, to have any chance of success, Corsica should aim to emphasise
the abundance of its population rather than monetary wealth. It should seek an
economy based on agriculture, which will help to make it self-sufficient but also
allow for the simple, non-luxurious life style that is most conducive to a good
society (Rousseau 2012: 194–5). He warns that towns are dangerous because
they encourage idleness, and the vice that inevitably arises from it (Rousseau
2012: 201). Capital cities are even more problematic in this regard (Rousseau
2012: 202) and their function should be restricted to the administration of the
republic. In this he is repeating his often-asserted dislike of towns and cities and
his conviction that living in the country is more conducive to becoming and
remaining a virtuous person. He was very adamant that Emile should be edu-
cated in the country to avoid temptations.
Rousseau, here as elsewhere, warns against the dangers of corruption and
decline even in a virtuous republic and offers what he sees as the salutary
warning of the decline of the Swiss cantons from robust, independent demo-
cracies to dependency on France (Rousseau 2012: 204–7). What is it, then, that
makes members of some societies able to act virtuously? Or, to put it slightly
differently, what is it about those societies of free men, such as Corsica and
Poland, that allows them at least the possibility of developing just societies? The
answer lies in the general will.

Sovereignty and the general will: the

foundations of a stable and cohesive society
The idea of the general will is at the heart of what Rousseau thinks makes a
society stable and cohesive. The purpose of education is to develop and main-
tain this stability and cohesiveness by inculcating the values of the community
into succeeding generations so that they may be able to give expression to the
general will. As such, the relationship between the education which Rousseau
advocates and his understanding of both critical thinking and autonomy all
differ radically from that offered by liberals such as Locke.
These arguments also distinguish his ideas on the social contract sharply from
the absolutism of Thomas Hobbes. Unlike Hobbes’ argument in Leviathan
82  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
(1996), Rousseau does not think that stability and cohesion – and the security
which is of central importance for Hobbes – provide the real justification for the
original social contract. Rather, he argues stability and cohesion – as well as
genuine security – are only possible if the civil association to which the contract
gives rise is based on certain fundamental values. In this he is closer to Locke
than to Hobbes, but he also disagrees with Locke, both on what these values
are and as to their underpinning foundations. This latter point, in which Rous-
seau stresses the importance of feeling, has, as we will see, far-reaching implica-
tions for his account of the general will as well as for his disagreement with
Locke over the nature of education.
Despite the manner in which Rousseau is often read as a ‘progressive’ thinker
who champions the freedom of the child, some of the arguments about educa-
tion in Poland seem closer to aspects of populism which are seen by critics as
opening the way to authoritarianism. This is particularly so of the argument that
education should encourage children to accept the fundamental values of
society uncritically. This is a controversial interpretation and one which is hotly
debated, unsurprisingly so because the concept of the general will itself is
notoriously controversial in studies of Rousseau. Political philosophers and
historians of ideas have offered conflicting accounts of the theory, and of its
implications, ranging from radical democracy to authoritarianism, and this
divergence has been reflected in much of the popular discussion of the concept
in relation to populism.
Many of the most important recent scholarly discussions of the general will are
indebted to the work of Patrick Riley, whose book The General Will before Rous-
seau: The Transformation of the Divine into the Civic (1986), refocused attention
on the concept and placed it, and Rousseau’s development of the idea, in a larger
historical context.14 His influence is reflected in the work of scholars such as
James Farr and David Lay Williams whose edited collection The General Will: The
Evolution of a Concept (Farr and Williams 2015) provides an overview of the
current work being done on the general will in the light of Riley’s work.
Riley argues that the idea of the general will draws upon several previous
ideas, one of which is the theological doctrine, central to the Calvinist theology
which was officially15 taught in Geneva when Rousseau was a child, of God’s
sovereign will. According to this doctrine, God’s will is the basis of a universal
morality which all people are obliged to follow. Although Rousseau rejects the
main teachings of Calvinist theology he does accept the argument that all justice
comes from God.16 He significantly modifies this, though, when he further
argues that the universal principles of this morality can only be understood
when they are expressed through laws specific to particular communities. In
practical terms, then, moral sovereignty is properly understood, and can only be
expressed, in terms of a general will which is neither particular nor universal.
It is general, as opposed to universal, in that it is generally applicable to all
members of a specific community, but not universally to all members of human-
ity. It is general rather than particular because it is distinct from the particular
wills of individual members of society: the general will is not the will of all or
even the will of the majority (Rousseau 2019b: Book II, Chapter 3).
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  83
The general will is the expression of the sovereign, but Rousseau’s concept
of who, or what, the sovereign is, differs markedly from that of many of his con-
temporaries and most particularly from that of Hobbes. Hobbes argues that life
in the state of nature is, in the most famous phrase in Leviathan, ‘nasty brutish
and short’, a situation which he also characterises as a ‘condition which is called
war; and such a war, as is of every man, against every man’ (Hobbes 1996:
Book 1, Chapter 13). Under such circumstances, Hobbes argues, people would
willingly give up much of their freedom to an individual or group who could
guarantee their security. This individual or group of people would then rule as
an absolute sovereign because only that way would they be able to control a
naturally warlike and aggressive people.
Rousseau agrees with Hobbes that the sovereign should be absolute but
differs radically on who comprises the sovereign, and the sovereign’s relation-
ship to the individuals who live under its authority. The sovereign, he argues is
made up of all the people who are citizens of a particular community and the
general will is the expression of the will of these citizens. Because all citizens are
members of the sovereign, in collectively willing something they are each indi-
vidually exercising their choice and so are bound by the decisions they them-
selves have made. This appears to be a very democratic position to hold and it
has many echoes in populist ideas which emphasise the will of the people.
Where it appears to differ from liberalism is in the lack of any restraint on what
the general will may legitimately decide.
In making this claim Rousseau is in part following Montesquieu who
emphasised the importance of understanding different societies in terms of their
particular geographies, histories and cultures (Rousseau 2019b: 82), an idea
which has significance for the nationalist strand in populism and its attendant
implications for educational policies. The greatest significance of Rousseau’s
argument, though, lies in its contrast to the liberal idea of a universal will which
reflects the good of humanity and which provides a rationale for the cosmopoli-
tanism shared by many Enlightenment thinkers. Rousseau rejects this liberal
idea emphatically in many places, such as his original second chapter of The
Social Contract ‘Of the General Society of Mankind’ in the Geneva Manuscript
(Rousseau 2019b: 156–65). Here he attacks Denis Diderot’s argument in his
article ‘Natural Rights’, written for the Encyclopedia of Diderot and d’Alembert
(2009), where Diderot argues that there is a general will which all rational
beings can come to understand and accept, and which should form the basis of
laws in all just societies. In arguing to the contrary, that each community has its
own general will and that the general wills of different communities will at times
be different and potentially in conflict, Rousseau is placing himself against the
prevailing values of the Enlightenment as profoundly and unapologetically as he
had done in the Discourse on the Sciences and Arts.
We may conclude from this that education should not be based on cosmo-
politan liberal ideas of global justice or universal human rights but on the need
to teach the values of one’s own community. In taking this position Rousseau’s
argument runs counter to the emphasis in many Western schools and univer-
sities on creating global citizens who able to work (and compete) in a global
84  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
environment. Rousseau would have regarded education for global citizenship as
a means to the creation of ‘dead souls’, Samuel Huntington’s phrase to describe
people who have more in common with an international elite who share their
globalised values than they do with the great majority of members of their own
country.17 His position anticipates that of populists such as Viktor Orbán who
emphasise the importance of a national education which promotes the particular
values and interests of its own country as opposed to the cosmopolitan liberal-
ism of the CEU. The autonomy of the individual is played down in order to
strengthen the autonomy of the community.18
It might seem to follow from this that Rousseau cannot argue that values of
one’s own society are inherently superior to those of other societies: such a claim
would not make sense because there is no possible neutral, global vantage point
from which it might be possible to be able to assess such values – the claim that
there can be is itself a liberal illusion. This is clearly linked to ­Rousseau’s opposition
to the idea that there can be a universal or cosmopolitan citizenship – citizenship is
the product of particular histories and of values which can only be expressed
through the general will. Our understanding – in an emotional as well as an intel-
lectual sense – is shaped by the kind of ­community we live in and by the kind of
education which it requires us to undertake, both formally and informally.
There is an apparent contradiction in Rousseau’s thought, though; one mir-
rored in the contemporary populism. Rousseau is highly critical of the corrup-
tion that he detects in contemporary society, so much so that he believes that
Emile has to be educated in isolation from French society in order not to
become polluted by it. But if every society has its own general will, how is it
possible to condemn various European societies as bad?
One possible way of defending Rousseau is to say that he, in contrast to the
great majority of his fellow citizens, is giving expression to the general will of
his society. Such a reading is not implausible, particularly given that Rousseau
writes a good deal about his superior insight into moral truths, particularly in
The Confessions (Rousseau 1995) and Reveries of a Solitary Walker (Rousseau
2011). This argument may also draw on the example of Emile, whose education
is intended to make him understand and correctly express the general will in
order that he too may act as a model of good citizenship.
A comparison might be drawn with Socrates, who while on trial for his life in
the Apology tells the jury that he is a gift from the gods to Athens because he
can see clearly what is wrong with the life of the city and how it ought to be put
right (Apology 30d–31a). Rousseau would no doubt have thought it entirely
reasonable to be compared with Socrates, but the comparison raises a particular
difficulty. Socrates claimed to be able to offer guidance to the Athenians
because of his knowledge (admittedly limited in the Apology) of moral principles
that are true not just for Athens but for all human beings. In Plato’s Republic
this gives way to a full-blown theory of the universal Forms and the education
system that is required if the wise are to rule. Rousseau does think that
some things are morally wrong in all places and at all times, such as slavery,
or s­ignificant economic inequality which can lead to corruption,19 but is this
reconcilable with what he says about the particularity of the general will?
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  85
This might be reformulated as the question of how universal principles can
be applied in the different contexts of different societies. Many societies may be
so corrupt that their members cannot understand clearly (if at all) what these
principles are. Hence Rousseau’s comment quoted earlier that only free men
can live in, and sustain, free societies. But even when societies are just they will
still have to apply the general principles in their own context.
Understanding Rousseau’s argument more fully requires returning to his dis-
cussion of the state of nature. Rousseau argues in the Discourse on the Origins of
Inequality that in the state of nature individuals were driven by two things:
amour de soi-même and pitié. By amour de soi-même he means ‘self-love, a
natural feeling which reinforces the desire in all sentient beings for self preserva-
tion’ and when ‘guided in man by reason modified by pity produces humanity
and virtue’ (Rousseau 2019a: 224). By pitié he means pity in the sense of
­compassion, and gives examples drawn both from humans, such as a human
mother’s natural tenderness for her children, and from the behaviour of animals
(Rousseau 2019a: 155). Neither the desire for preservation nor feelings of com-
passion are the result of reasoning. Both, we might say, are essentially
­pre-rational. This must be so because people in the original state of nature lack
language and so could not reason. It is very important for Rousseau both that
people did not need to be educated in the state of nature to develop self-love
and pitié but also that, lacking language, they could not be. Education is
­possible only in society.
In his account of humans in the state of nature, Rousseau disagrees with
Hobbes’ view of human nature as being essentially violent and aggressive. Such
traits, Rousseau argues, are not present in the state of nature but are the con-
sequences of people living in society. Here education does have a role to play,
though often a pernicious one. People in contemporary European societies, he
argues, are taught to put aside these positive qualities and instead to cultivate
amour-propre. This term is often translated as ‘pride’ or ‘vanity’ and indicates a
belief that one is superior to others. Rousseau also associates it, in a highly crit-
ical manner, with codes of honour which are prevalent in highly stratified soci-
eties such as that of France in his day (Rousseau 2019a: 224). The practice of
comparing oneself with others was unknown in the state of nature because of
the solitary lives which individuals led and it becomes possible only when people
have left the state of nature and live in settled societies.
Rousseau believes that this learning to be selfish, to be less compassionate
and to regard oneself as superior to others are important features of education
in contemporary Europe. It is one very important reason why Emile has to be
educated in isolation. But this negative education is not the only possible con-
sequence of living in society: both society and the education which sustains its
propagation of these misguided and harmful attitudes are redeemable. Indeed,
education has a major role to play in the process of redemption. This is why he
says that when self-love is guided by ‘reason and modified by pity’ it ‘produces
humanity and virtue’. What is most striking in this claim is that humanity and
virtue are the products of reason, as well as pity, which means that it is only
after leaving the state of nature and entering into a well-ordered, just, society
86  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
that these higher moral traits can be developed. This is not something which
the individual can accomplish for himself, and even with the assistance of a
virtuous and exceptional teacher it is extremely difficult. It is for this reason that
the education in Emile is only a poor substitute for the education which would
become possible in a just society.
This is so because the bringing about of a harmonious order in society
through the general will and the development of virtue (and the suppression of
the vices associated with amour-propre) within that society are mutually reinfor-
cing. Consequently, when a society is reformed in such a way that it increasingly
reflects the general will, its individual members become more virtuous. This
helps to explain two things. First, it provides a reason for believing why, as
Rousseau frequently claims, such a society will pose no threat to peoples’
individual freedoms. Second, it explains the relationship between the laws
­
­established by the general will and universal moral principles.
Rousseau says on a number of occasions that individual freedoms are guaran-
teed by the general will because each member of society is a member of the sover-
eign and so would not agree to laws which threaten their own freedom. Liberals
such as Locke are sceptical of this argument because of the constant danger that all
governments, even legitimate ones, will try to manipulate public opinion to suit
their own ends. Public education, in their view, is a powerful tool of government
control and this is one reason why Locke and also Mill (as we will see in Chapter
5) are wary of allowing education to be brought under the control of the state.
Rousseau agrees with the need to ensure that government does not act corruptly
but argues that the best means of doing this is to ensure that the general will is
functioning as it ought. A government acting under the guidance of the general
will is much more likely to ensure that the freedoms of individual members are
safeguarded while simultaneously promoting the good of the community as a
whole. Under such circumstances, education carried out in the interests of the
state will also be in the interests of the i­ndividuals who make it up.
There are echoes here of Plato’s argument in the Republic that in a society
ruled by the wise and virtuous philosophers, the rulers will be compelled to act
in the interests of the community, and all its members, rather than in their own
self-interest. Like Rousseau, Plato argues that education should be provided by
the state and in one respect Plato does accept the importance of encouraging
the individual to pursue his or her own interests in that everyone in the
Republic is educated with a view to maximising their full potential and in
keeping with their skills and aptitudes. Dewey’s comment on the educational
theory of the Republic, referred to earlier in Chapter 2, that ‘[i]t would be
impossible to find a deeper sense of the function of education in discovering
and developing personal capacities, and training them so that they would
connect with the activities of others’ (Dewey 1916: 56) identifies an important
positive aspect of Plato’s argument. In a similar way, the education in both
Emile and Poland seeks to draw out the potential in the child. In Emile this may
mean a difficult and often lonely life as a person of virtue in a corrupt society
but in Poland it offers a far more positive hope of living a fulfilled life contrib-
uting to the well-being of a just society.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  87
Yet there is still a problem here. Despite Dewey’s broad approval of Plato’s
wish to ensure that each person receives the education most appropriate to him
or her, he also criticises the limitations of Plato’s theory of education. A major
weakness, he argues, is that Plato is unable to see the wide range of possibilities
open to each individual, a consequence, he claims, of living in a society which
was insufficiently democratic. To which one might add Plato’s own rejection of
even the ‘insufficient’ democracy of Athens. Rousseau might be thought to be
exempt from such a criticism because the general will is much closer to demo-
cracy than is the rule of the philosophers. But liberal critics such as Mill suggest
that the implications of submitting to the general will lead to the same prob-
lems as submitting to philosopher rulers: in both cases they claim to know what
is best for the individual and allow no right of appeal.
To see how Rousseau might be defended against this view, we must briefly
discuss the relationship between the general will of a society and universal moral
principles.
Plato’s solution to the problem of the relationship between universal values
and the values of the good society is to say that only a society based upon these
universal values – the Forms of the Good, the Just and so on – can be a good
society. David Lay Williams, in a wide-ranging work, Rousseau’s Platonic
Enlightenment (Williams 2007), argues that Rousseau is far more of a Platonist
than is usually accepted and that understanding this enables a clearer view of the
relationship between the particular and the universal. Rousseau, he argues,
believes in universal, timeless truths, which place significant restrictions on the
general will. If he is right this provides an answer to those who argue that
the general will in particular societies can in principle lead to highly undesirable
outcomes such as fascism or slavery. It also explains why Rousseau can argue
that there are some things which can never be accepted even if the general will
attempts to postulate them. This does not mean, though, that all general wills
will come to the same conclusions on matters of detail because, as Williams
argues, these fundamental principles are indeterminate.
An important part of Williams’ argument is that there are, as Williams quotes
Rousseau writing in Rousseau, Judge of Jean-Jacques: Dialogues, innate feelings
of moral justice and truth which are ‘engraved in all hearts’, or in the Reveries of
a Solitary Walker there are ‘eternal truths’ accepted in all times and places and
‘indelibly engraved on the human heart’ and in Emile where it is claimed that
there are eternal laws of nature ‘written in the depth of his heart by conscience
and reason’ (Williams 2007: 74).
Conscience is indeed of central importance in this discussion but as Williams
acknowledges, ‘conscience exists and operates only in the social sphere’
­(Williams 2007: 75). This being so, it is difficult to see how the values which
are written into the heart by conscience (and reasoned argument in language,
which is also a social phenomenon) can be universal.
It helps to resolve the problem if we recall Rousseau’s argument that virtues
are possible only in society. Conscience, grounded though it is in feelings of
self-love and pity, has to be educated within society in order to respond to
higher principles of justice.
88  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
A major difference between Plato and Rousseau is that while for Plato the
universal morality is fundamentally based upon principles which can only
be properly understood through many years of intensely abstract study and the
application of a highly educated skill in reasoning, for Rousseau it is fundament-
ally based upon feeling. This is not to say that Rousseau thought reason was
unimportant in morality, he did not, as we have seen. He thought the articu-
lation of virtue in society was dependent on reason, but it is only when reason is
properly grounded in the natural feeling of self-love and of pity that it can
enable people to create ‘humanity and virtue’.
The exercise of the general will, unfettered by amour-propre, will not permit
slavery or significant economic equality because these are at variance both with
natural human feelings of pity and the rational understanding of virtue which
will have emerged in the society based upon these feelings. But feeling is not
sufficient: a just society is needed in order not only to guarantee the application
of these feelings in moral principles and moral actions but even to articulate
them. It follows from this that the different contexts of different societies, even
when their general wills are properly functioning, and so are grounded in
self-love and pity, will develop different moral codes – different laws – to
­
accommodate the specific needs of their society.
Education has a vital role to play in this articulation and the way it does so
will be influenced by the context of the society in which it is situated.
Part of the role of education is obviously to pass these values on to the next
generation. Doing so will ensure that young people will grow up understanding
those values and being able to participate in the expression of the general will.
This is one reason why Rousseau is adamant in Poland that teachers (unlike the
original Lawgiver) must be members of the community. That does not mean,
though, that the values of the community as they are taught in schools will be
unchanging. Over time change will occur, perhaps because of the growth of
empirical knowledge or advances in technology, both of which will require new
ways of interpreting both particular moral principles and the deeper feelings of
amour de soi-même and compassion upon which they are ultimately grounded.
Rousseau makes this point explicitly in Poland when he writes of the need to
constantly reassess the relevance of the laws of the state (2019b: 223–4).
­Rousseau is very clear, though, that these changes should not be entrusted to a
group of skilled experts – all changes to the law are the sole prerogative of the
sovereign as it expresses the general will. If this is so, education is not simply a
matter of indoctrinating people into an unthinking acceptance of current beliefs
and values because as citizens they must have the skills to assess evidence and
analyse arguments to enable them to assess the laws. It must, therefore, include
an element of critical thinking.
This points to an important difference between Rousseau’s view of education
and society and that of Plato. For Plato there is one set of truths which can only
be known through long and arduous intellectual training. Once these truths
have been learned there is no further need to question them: all that is required
is obedience to the teaching and guidance of those who are in possession of
these truths. Criticism will lead to the destruction of the ideal state. Whether it
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  89
is an alternative based on a thymotic sense of honour, on wealth or democracy,
all will lead in the end to the worst of all rules, that of the tyrant.
Rousseau does not share this idea of a perfect society and he does not believe
that knowledge of the values that ought to guide society should be the preroga-
tive of a highly educated elite. In a just society, the education which necessarily
teaches people the values of patriotism and self-sacrifice must also provide
future citizens with the skills to rethink and renew the laws for which they, as
members of the sovereign body, are collectively responsible.
Put this way, Rousseau’s arguments seem compatible with democracy and
the education system which such societies require has a vital role in preparing
people to participate in the democracy. Yet Rousseau also argues that most soci-
eties, including those of Poland and Corsica, are too large to be governed as
democracies and that an elected aristocracy is more appropriate. How are these
to views to be reconciled?
The answer is that Rousseau distinguishes between the sovereign and the
government. Only the sovereign can make (or in the case of the original found-
ing) endorse the laws of the state, but the execution of policies under these laws
is the prerogative of the government. This explains in part Rousseau’s claim in
The Social Contract that the English (as he puts it) are only free when they vote
in parliamentary elections (Rousseau 2019b: 17). The rest of the time Members
of Parliament take on the role of lawmakers and so become the sovereign body.
Rousseau claims that in a just society sovereignty must always remain with the
people and that the role of government is to act in accordance with the laws laid
down by them.
The implication for education is that in a just society people must be
­educated into the values of the general will because only through an under-
standing and, more fundamentally, a passionate identification with it can
people be good citizens. Rousseau’s argument marks a major difference from
Locke at this crucial point. Locke places knowledge of the natural law as
­logically (though not practically) prior to knowledge of how to live in society,
with the very important consequence that it is possible to appeal to the
natural law against the will of the sovereign. For Rousseau this is quite wrong:
without being educated into the values of the general will, people have no
means of properly understanding how to think and act morally. The kind of
people we are, including the kind of moral people, is a consequence of being
the kinds of citizens our ­particular society moulds us into. Education plays a
central role in this moulding because it shapes the minds of children and
young people towards this social end.
As the general will is an indispensable guide to interpreting what is right
and wrong, being a good citizen and being a good person become indistin-
guishable in this context. So, in a society in which the general will is sover-
eign, no appeal against the general will is possible and a properly functioning
education system will have no space for the kind of radical critical thinking
which Locke (and later Mill) argues is an essential part of education. Justified
criticism of laws that no long function in the interests of the community can
only be internal to the sovereign people and must rest on the particular values
90  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
of the community rather than on the supposedly abstract reasoning of a
­hypothetical impartial observer.
This argument has similarities with the objections that the Orbán govern-
ment have to the CEU’s claim that by facilitating dialogue and debate among
the members of a student population who are recruited from many different
countries it is able to foster independent critical thinking largely shorn of local
prejudices. Such an education, the Hungarian populist might argue, will result
in replacing the natural, historically developed values of a nation with the
unnatural, ahistorical values of a disconnected global elite. The students will be
left feeling rootless, incapable of achieving a sense of belonging. As a result they
will have no standpoint from which to judge the merits of suggested changes,
or even whether such changes are necessary.
In light of this argument it will be useful to consider again Judith Shklar’s
argument, mentioned in Chapter 2 in connection with Plato (p.  43), that
Rousseau should be read as a critic rather than as a constructive thinker. If that
is so then we can see why Rousseau can be so critical of both politics and educa-
tion in his own time. He can be as scathing and harsh (as uncivil, we might say)
as he wishes because he believes, unlike Locke, that contemporary society is so
corrupt that in most cases it is virtually impossible, short of some great disrup-
tive event, to make people see the need to transform society. But this is only
one aspect of his thinking and in the cases of Corsica and Poland, Rousseau
does offer practical suggestions of how to build a more just society, and of the
kind of education system it requires. Moreover, the suggestions in Poland are
far more detailed than would be the case if it were, as Shklar suggests it is,
intended only as a utopian ideal (Shklar 1985: 14–15).20 Rousseau certainly
thought that a successful radical transformation of Polish and Corsican societies
was unlikely to happen, but if such a transformation were to happen this is how
it must be.
Rousseau is certainly convinced that individuals can only become fully them-
selves when living in a harmonious society: only there can they fully understand
the significance of their own life in the light of the values articulated through
the general will. Yet he does frequently emphasise the importance of the indi-
vidual. Despite the element of manipulation in Emile, there is also a genuine
sense of wanting Emile to develop as an individual. At least in Emile, though
more problematically in Poland and Corsica, the education of the individual is
never lost sight of. Moreover, works such as The Confessions (Rousseau 1995)
and Reveries of a Solitary Walker (Rousseau 2011), are focused very sharply on
the life of an individual and the importance of conscience, and more generally
of self-reflection, is central.21
It is also important to emphasise a strand in Rousseau’s political thought to
which liberal critics of Rousseau do not always give due prominence. In The
Social Contract Rousseau distinguishes between the state as a ‘public person’
and the individuals or ‘private persons’ who are its members. The individuals,
he argues, have ‘a life and freedom’ which are ‘naturally independent’ of the
state. Because of this it is necessary to ‘distinguish between the respective rights
of the citizens and the sovereign … and the natural rights they [that is, the
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  91
citizens] must enjoy in their capacity as men’ (Rousseau 2019b: 63). The just
state and general will which underpins it do not subsume the whole of the indi-
vidual into themselves, as modern totalitarian states have tried to do. The
­distinction between man and citizen is crucial to Rousseau’s thought.
Does this mean that education, or the education which Rousseau writes
about in Poland in particular, is just an education for citizenship? It need not
exclude the study of literature, for example, but Emile’s early reading – or
virtual lack of it is – is highly restricted, and Rousseau’s rejection of the idea of a
theatre in Geneva is in line with this, as we will see later in this chapter (p. 96).
It follows from Rousseau’s argument that a school, or a university such as
the CEU, which aims to teach students from a liberal cosmopolitan perspective,
is bound to act contrary to the interests of the community (any community) in
which it is situated. He is explicit about this in Poland when he writes that if
Poland is to become a just society based on its own general will all its teachers
must be Poles. But it would seem that the implications go further than par-
ticular institutions and their control by the national government. If a society
wishes to ensure that its students learn only those values which are conducive to
the cultivation of the general will they ought not to permit its students to
engage in educational activities outside its borders, and beyond its control. Such
an approach would rule out progammes like the Bologna Process and the
Higher European Education Area (HEEA) which exists in order, among other
things, to facilitate ease of movement between institutions in different coun-
tries.22 The following extract from the statement of the Fifth Bologna Policy
Forum is wholly at variance with Rousseau’s view of education and illustrates
how far his position differs from a major contemporary European view of the
importance of cross cultural exchanges and the sharing of values.

Higher education has a long tradition of forging international links and

there are many examples of productive partnerships between our countries.
Higher education institutions and stakeholders are among the key drivers
of international cooperation through the mobility of staff and students,
international research partnerships, transnational education and collabora-
tion on reaching solutions to global challenges. In this way higher educa-
tion has provided a strong basis for the crossfertilisation of ideas and good
practice that contribute to solving global issues.23

Rousseau would reject such proposals because they would expose students to
the corrupting influence of bad teachers in decadent societies.
The emphasis on the general will as a moral will is important in Rousseau in
another way that has significance for populist ideas and practice. If it were
simply a method of deciding what is most efficient or even most financially
advantageous, the general will would be a mere tool, a device for calculating the
optimum outcome. It might still be possible to argue that the laws that are
issued from such a sovereign should be obeyed because they are recognised to
be in everyone’s best interest. This becomes even more rational if one takes a
Rawlsian perspective and argues that behind the veil of ignorance one would
92  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
choose a system that minimises the dangers to oneself. But the general will in
Rousseau is not at all like that. The general will imposes moral obligations on all
citizens because they are citizens, not because they are men, and someone who
is perceived to have acted against the general will has to be corrected – forced to
be free – precisely because he is a citizen. The correction is fundamentally a
moral correction – it is justified not only by being for the good of all but,
perhaps even more fundamentally, by being for the moral good of the errant
citizen.
It is also a matter in which education is central. To enable people to see the
error of their ways a process of re-education may be required. Yet if that is so it
suggests that, at least in the case of the erring individuals, the education which
is provided by the state has been deficient. An objection to this might be that it
is unreasonable to attribute the dissent of a few to a failure of education. This
might be a feasible response if the individuals are few in number and have
particular reasons, perhaps particular quirks of character or eccentricities,
­
which have led them to dissent.24 But where larger numbers dissent, and par-
ticularly when such dissent continues over a period of time, the education
system, on Rousseau’s understanding of how it needs to be if society is to be
just, must be at fault.
Rousseau is aware in The Social Contract of the possibility that a just society
might decay to the point where the general will ceases to function (Rousseau
2019b: Book III, Chapter 11) and this leads him in Poland particularly to
emphasise the importance of education as a cohesive force. In doing so he
places enormous power over education not in the hands of the sovereign but of
the government.
Rousseau defines the government in The Social Contract as an intermediary
body between the sovereign and its subjects (Rousseau 2019b: Book III,
Chapter 1). This initially sounds odd because if the sovereign is composed of all
the citizens and all the citizens are subjects why should there be a need for an
intermediary body? The reason is two-fold. The first is that not every subject is a
citizen – children, in particular, are subjects but only potential citizens (they are,
we might say, in the process of being trained to be citizens). The other reason is
a more philosophical one, that the citizens are sovereign only when they are
engaged in law making or law changing. If the people at large were given the
power of executing the laws they would be tempted to do so in their own
­interests which would clearly undermine the stability of the society. The power
of executing the laws has to be entrusted to those who can be relied upon to
carry out their duties impartially.
The role of the sovereign in society is the most important because it enacts
laws; that of the government is merely to execute them. Yet in order to execute
the laws the government must be clear about what the laws require. That is to
say, it must also interpret them – and in doing so interpret what the general will
requires in the enacting of any law. This means that given its privileged position
as interpreter of the general will it can be very difficult to challenge acts of
­government when it claims that it is simply carrying out what the general will
has required.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  93
Here the relationship between government, the general will and education
becomes crucial. The government in faithfully executing the laws, and
thereby fulfilling the mandate of the general will, has to ensure the education
system upholds, and passes on to the next generation, the values embodied in
the general will. Rousseau argues in Poland that the government, in the
persons of a group of particularly experienced and distinguished members,
must take a close interest in what happens in the schools and have the right
to dismiss a principal if the education in his school is not sufficiently patriotic
(Rousseau 2019b: 196). What seemed to be a criticism of Rousseau, that
where there is dissent that suggests a weakness in the education system,
becomes instead, from his perspective, a strength – dissidents show there are
problems in the system, or particular parts of it, and these must be addressed
perhaps by dismissing the teachers in the schools which these dissidents
attended.
This sounds disturbing enough, but what happens when the system is
working properly is even more troubling from a liberal perspective. The chil-
dren who are educated in the way that the government requires have very little
option but to accept the interpretation of those values as laid down by the gov-
ernment. The government’s claim to be interpreting the general will is
extremely difficult to challenge and given the control of government over
schools, this is the interpretation that is accepted by the children. This is the
education about which Rousseau writes in the first paragraph of the section on
education in Poland, stating that it directs the children’s ‘opinions and their
tastes that they may be patriotic by inclination, passion, necessity’ (Rousseau
2019b: 193). It is the government’s interpretation of the general will which
decides what it means to be Polish – or in the case of modern populism,
­Hungarian or American.

Authoritarianism and the general will

Rousseau’s discussion of education in Poland helps to understand why, in
Geraint Parry’s phrase referred to above (pp. 78–9), the education plan set out
in Emile is ‘only second best’. The provision of a suitable education in the
corrupt and artificial society of the European countries of his own day requires
that the child is removed from society and educated in virtual isolation by his
tutor. But such isolation deprives Emile of the benefits of being educated in a
society which would nurture him and help to grow into a well-adjusted and
sociable person. This is particularly important because much of the education in
the values and morés of society does not come through reasoning but through
directing the children’s ‘opinions and their tastes that they may be patriots by
inclination, passion and necessity’. Although Emile’s tutor seeks to instil these
values, the society of one man, however wise and honourable, can only
be second best. Moreover, Emile comes to realise as he grows older that the
morality he has acquired is mocked by the larger society in which he will have to
live. This is very different to being educated in a society where everyone shares
this morality and reinforces it on a daily basis.
94  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Rousseau stresses the importance of inclination and passions of the
­ on-rational in education, in Emile during the course of a highly significant
n
­criticism of Locke in which he attacks what he describes as Locke’s chief maxim:
‘Reason with children’. The problem with reasoning with children from an early
age is that the ability to reason is only learnt through the process of education –
it is the goal of education and so cannot be a means to achieve the goal. But if
this approach to education is taken the children will become arrogant, thinking
themselves as clever as their teachers and, what is worst, ‘become disputatious
and rebellious’(Rousseau 1979: 89).
There is some sense in what Rousseau is saying here. It does seem counter-
productive to use language which children will not understand, but Locke would
not disagree with this (Locke 1989: Section 81). Where they do differ is that
from a liberal perspective such as Locke’s it is indeed desirable to encourage a
child to be constantly questioning and to be argumentative, even ‘disputatious
and rebellious’ on occasion. This will encourage children to grow into indepen-
dently-minded adults, though any arrogance this might encourage should be
tempered in a well-educated person by the requirements of civility. It is not diffi-
cult to see why Rousseau would reject this approach: it is not something which
encourages the unity of the general will, and so not something which could
­contribute positively to the education of a member of Rousseau’s society.
Does this emphasis on the importance of passions and emotions and the rel-
ative downplaying of reason in education, coupled with a belief in the need to
continually reinforce the values of society and where necessary to purify it of
those who dissent, imply that this type of education might lead to an authorit-
arian society?
It perhaps seems unfair to criticise Rousseau for the use which others have
made of his work, though the temptation to do so is as old as Burke (Burke
1993: 269–74). When Rousseau’s ideas were taken up and applied to practical
politics during the French Revolution, it was his negative criticisms that were
most often appropriated. But in the person of Robespierre, in particular, the
negativity was compounded with a powerful conviction of the need to purify
the corrupt society through what were effectively authoritarian methods (Scurr
2006). This is not to say that populists who share Rousseau’s combination of
disdain for the corruption that they see in the ruling elite and a desire for a
simpler, purer life, wish to introduce a reign of terror, any more than did Rous-
seau, who loathed the idea of revolutionary change. The problem is that in
rejecting the liberal emphasis on criticism and autonomous learners in the
present political and educational system they are vulnerable to authoritarian
arguments which claim to be offering a superior alternative to liberal demo-
cracy. That may be, in part, be why some right-wing populists such as the
French Front National or the Hungarian Fidesz party express admiration for the
government of Russia’s Vladimir Putin, which claims to represent a purer
society than that of the supposedly decadent West. It is also a reminder that
Plato’s response to the problems posed by the corruptions he saw in democratic
society was to suggest rule by people who in serving the good of the republic
would allow no dissent.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  95
Is this an overly harsh criticism of Rousseau? Perhaps not. As we have seen,25
education is at the heart of Rousseau’s political thought because it is only
through education (properly conducted) that people may over time become
citizens who can express the general will. On this argument, the closer a society
comes to the ideal which The Social Contract sets out, the more conservative it
becomes. Emile has to be removed from the corrupt society into which he was
born and taught a set of values radically different from those of eighteenth
century France but a child in a reformed Poland would be educated in society
and with the express purpose of finding within himself the values of that society
and the ability to express the general will. Removing a Polish child from the
public education and educating him in isolation in the way that Emile is (or
even worse, educating him in another country) would be morally reprehensible.
If we read Emile as answering a question about the fundamental basis of
what education should be, we can then see that the intensely individualistic
element in Emile is not primarily to be understood as child centred. That might
seem odd, because Rousseau constantly talks about the importance of a child
learning for himself, and a good deal of more recent literature on Emile
and education has emphasised a reading of Rousseau as the founder of progres-
sive, child-centred education. Despite the ways in which Rousseau has often
been interpreted in this way, it would seem that the education offered in
­Rousseau’s ideal society, while it might encourage children to think they are
discovering things for themselves, would in fact be geared to the promotion of
a very particular set of values and, more fundamentally, to the production of a
very particular kind of person. The child is still free to explore the world for
himself and to learn through observation and experiment, but the limits set
down by the tutor, or the government of a reformed society, place strict bound-
aries around the child’s activities: boundaries which he cannot criticise because
they are hidden from him. There is nothing in the account of education in
Poland that is at variance with the essential message of Emile.
Applying these criticisms to the education in Poland, Rousseau’s argument
about social institutions and citizenship at the beginning of Emile go some way
to undermine the liberalism that many have seen in his educational thought:

Good social institutions are those best fitted to make a man unnatural, to
exchange his independence for dependence, to merge the unit in the
group, so that he no longer regards himself as one, but as a part of the
whole, and is only conscious of the common life. A citizen of Rome was
neither Caius nor Lucius, he was a Roman; he ever loved his country better
than his life.
(Rousseau 1979: 40)

This is not to say that Rousseau ignores the importance of reason altogether, far
from it, but it is reason which is guided by the deeper underlying values of
society. Emile is indeed educated in the country in an attempt to isolate him
from the corruption of the city, but when he is sufficiently mature and properly
prepared by the education his tutor has given him he can enter society with the
96  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
clear-sighted reason which allows him to see through the illusions of the
­sophisticated. In some respects this might seem to have parallels with populist
ideas of educating children away from the influences of elite values, and, in a
further similarity with modern populism, particularly values which promote
international or global as opposed to national identities. Rousseau’s rejection of
the Abbé St Pierre’s plan for a European union, complete with its own parlia-
ment, would endear him to many twenty-first century European populists.
There is a particularly striking example of this in his Letter to M. d’Alembert
on the Theatre where Rousseau argues (in a way that is clearly influenced by
Plato’s arguments about dramatic poetry in the Republic) that the theatre is
dangerous because it appeals to the passions, not reason, and that consequently
no theatre should be allowed to be built in Geneva (Rousseau 1960: 21).
It is also evident in Rousseau’s highly rationalistic views on religion. In the
Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre he writes that although he believes that
the Bible is ‘the most sublime of all books’ nevertheless ‘of whatever authentic-
ity the sacred text may be, it is still more believable that the Bible was altered
than that God is unjust or malevolent’ (Rousseau 1960: 13). Such a view would
have appealed to the philosophes like d’Alembert himself but would have been
profoundly disturbing to orthodox Roman Catholics and Protestants because it
appeared to put human reason above Divine Revelation. These ideas are
expressed more fully in Emile and The Social Contract. The ‘Profession of a
Savoyard Vicar’ in Book IV of Emile is a detailed and closely argued defence of
a rational, natural religion which, though theistic rather than deistic, rejects the
supernatural, regards all religions as essentially equal and places reason above
alleged divine inspiration (Rousseau 1979: especially 295–310). Book IV,
Chapter VIII of The Social Contract is, if anything, even more controversial; not
only does it argue for a minimal state religion (along lines very similar to that of
the Savoyard Vicar) but it also claims that the true essence of Christianity is
inimical to stable social life. A devout Christian whose life is given over to the
hope of eternal life will have no great interest in or concern for the society in
which he finds himself and will be a bad citizen (Rousseau 2019b: 146–55).
Both Rousseau’s rejection of the theatre in Geneva and his emphasis on a
rational religion turn fundamentally on his belief in the importance of deeply
held values of society rather than on individual reason.
Plays in the theatre, he argues, manipulate the audience’s feelings in ways
which disrupt the relationship between the morality which underlies society and
the reason which is built upon it. Rousseau criticises what he regards as the
immorality of actors and actresses who through playing many different charac-
ters from many different times and places lose a sense of who they themselves
are, and of the society which formed them. If, as Rousseau maintains, the
theatre is a form of education, the greatest danger it poses to a healthy society
is that by drawing people into the emotional life of the characters it dislocates
them from the feelings which they have been taught through their formal
education and which is daily reinforced by their fellow citizens. Theatres thrive,
he says, in corrupt, cosmopolitan cities such as Paris but they ought to have no
place in a society which seeks to remain uncontaminated.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  97
Rousseau’s account of religion is similarly based ultimately in the importance
of feeling. Like many eighteenth century critics of the old order he attacks what
he characterises as superstition in religion and thereby rejects much that is dis-
tinctive about Christianity. Most importantly, this means jettisoning much that
appeals to the emotions of the believer, such as miracles. This explains the nub
of his argument which relates to the place of religion in society. Devout Chris-
tians are incapable of being good citizens because their feelings are elsewhere.
The value of religion to society is as a means of social cohesion.
This requirement of a state religion places him in opposition to those
amongst the American Founders who shared his scepticism about many of the
teachings of Christianity but who concluded that no established religion should
be allowed in the new Republic. Thomas Jefferson, from his Ambassador’s
Residence in Paris, fully supported James Madison’s arguments at the Constitu-
tional Convention for a separation of church and state. He went further though
when, in collaborating with Madison in the founding of the University of
­Virginia, he forbad the teaching of religion.26 Like Rousseau, Jefferson recog-
nised the power of emotions and feelings and the power of religion to control
them. Unlike Rousseau, he rejected the opportunity to use religion as a means
of manipulation in either the state or education.

Manipulation
There is another aspect to A Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre which raises
this concern about manipulation. For a significant part of the book Rousseau
offers a detailed and highly critical attack on Molière and other playwrights yet
he admits in a long footnote towards the end (Rousseau 1960: 131–2) that he
actually enjoys the theatre and that he has ‘never willingly missed a performance
of Molière’. How does he justify this apparent contradiction, not to say hypo-
crisy? His answer is that he is writing not to express his own views but to safe-
guard the interest and well-being of his fellow citizens. After commending
himself for his honesty and integrity, he writes:

Never did personal views soil the desire to be useful to others which put
the pen in my hand and I have almost always written against my own inter-
ests.… Readers, I may deceive myself, but I do not deceive you willingly;
beware of my errors and not my bad faith. Love of the public good is the
only passion which causes me to speak to the public.…
(Rousseau 1960: 132)

Bloom is sympathetic to Rousseau here, accepting his argument for the need to
sometimes speak as a citizen rather than a philosopher (Rousseau 1960: xvii), an
endorsement based on Bloom’s Straussian understanding of the nature of philo-
sophy and veiled knowledge. But the argument has implications for a populist
reading of Rousseau, too. In speaking for what he takes to be true interests of
the citizens of Geneva, Rousseau is claiming to represent (or articulate) the
general will. He is also claiming that he is able to do this by putting aside his
98  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
particular will and rising above it. But he does not think all Genevans will be
able to do this, because if they did there would be no need for his concern
about the possibility of a theatre in Geneva; if the Genevans were able to put
aside their particular wills, or even just their confused opinions on the issue, and
transparently consult the general will they would immediately veto the proposal.
So Rousseau’s whole argument here is that he has a deeper understanding of
the true interests of the people of Geneva, and of the general will of the com-
munity, than they do themselves. Indeed, this ‘love of the public good’ is, he
claims what morally obliges him to write the letter, and to show to the people
of Geneva what is in their own true interest.
So is there a way of reconciling the manipulator and the lover of freedom?
One way, suggested by R. D. Masters among others, is to argue that Rousseau
was aware of the seeming contradictions in his work and that he was writing on
two distinct levels. The first of these was the surface level at which what he
writes is to be taken at face value. The second is an esoteric level at which he is
writing for the few who can read between the lines and see what is only implicit.
Masters and Kelly in their introduction to Volume II of the Collected Writings,
argue that Rousseau consciously employed this technique from at least the Dis-
course on the Sciences and Arts, and that the esoteric teachings exhibit a funda-
mental coherence across all his mature writings on politics, education and
society which other commentators have claimed is absent (Rousseau 1992:
xviii–xxiii, see also 183–4).
Such a reading of Rousseau is by no means uncontroversial. Nevertheless,
if we look at Rousseau’s frequent acknowledgement that he does not mean
what he says to apply equally to everyone, it is clear that Rousseau is
­advocating different levels of intellectual, and perhaps moral, understanding
in society.
Such an approach has considerable implications for education. In such a
view, the few who are truly wise and virtuous have, as Rousseau says in both
Emile and Poland, a duty to protect those in their care. Teachers (and those
magistrates those who guide them in what they should teach) have to ensure
that children do not read the wrong books (or virtually any books in childhood,
if Emile’s education is to be a guide) or ask the wrong kinds of questions. The
Platonic influence is pronounced.
This discussion brings us back to the fundamental point that society for
Rousseau, even, indeed especially, the kind of just society envisaged in The
Social Contract or Poland, is unnatural. Education, too, is unnatural, but more
than that it is an essential factor in promoting and reinforcing the unnatural just
society. A just society is one in which people have been transformed to make
them virtuous citizens; education is the means of moulding each successive gen-
eration so that its members grow up as transformed individuals. This cannot be
emphasised strongly enough, which is why for all the talk in Emile of the child
coming to learn through his own curiosity and experimentation, the funda-
mental purpose of education is to form him into a particular kind of person.
Patrick Riley makes this point very clearly by contrasting Rousseau’s position
with that of Kant.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  99
What moves us away from ‘pathological’ self-love for Kant is not a denaturing
civil education … but simply ‘seeing’ – at the ‘age of reason’ – a moral law
which (as a ‘fact of reason’) is just there. It is no accident that education
(domestic and civic) is everything in Rousseau … and (nearly) nothing in
Kant.
(Riley 2008: 592)

Indeed, a lawgiver such as Moses (or Lycurgus) who Rousseau believes is essen-
tial to laying down the legal and moral basis of society would for Kant be not
merely ‘superfluous’ but ‘possibly autonomy-endangering’. The ‘possibly’ seems
too mild here. From a Kantian perspective (and from that of other liberals), a
society based upon a lawgiver who inculcates the values which are then internal-
ised in the general will is the antithesis of a free society. It is a society of
dependent children and the opposite of Kant’s view in his essay ‘An Answer to
the Question: What is Enlightenment?’ that becoming an enlightened person
involves thinking for oneself (Kant 1991: 54).
Riley offers a possible way out of this dilemma, and one which, if correct,
would have something in common with Kant. Kant argues at the end of ‘An
Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment’ that we are not yet living in
an enlightened age but in one that is becoming enlightened (Kant 1991: 58).
Riley’s argument, though he does not refer to Kant’s essay, follows a similar
line. At the end of a long process through which people become fully formed
members of society, perhaps over a number of generations, during which the
education process will have fully moulded them, new citizens will emerge who
freely embrace the general will. There is some plausibility in this interpretation
which picks up on an important idea of timeliness and gradual rather than
revolutionary change. Riley refers to Rousseau’s discussion of this point in The
Social Contract and we might also think of the way in which Rousseau writes of
the slow changes that will need to be made before the Polish peasants can
become free.
Nevertheless two problems persist. The first, and more philosophically acute, is
that, as Riley points out, even if people wholly internalise the values which they
have been taught and accept them as natural and normal their thinking has still
been manipulated by those who established the society and the education system.
There is a distinct echo of Socrates’ admission when discussing the foundation
myth in the Republic that it would only be after a few generations that the people
would believe the myth (Republic 415c–d). That this is sometimes referred to as
‘the noble lie’ is telling: it is based on a deception, and it is hard to see how the
same is not true of the society which Riley imagines emerging from Rousseau’s
scheme. In other words, the people are not freely arriving at their understanding
of the general will – their ‘choices’ are, to borrow a Marxist term, the result of
false consciousness. To a liberal such as Locke or Mill, such an education system
would be a travesty because it must, by its very nature, forbid thinking which is
critical of the general will. As we saw in the discussion of the government control
of the curriculum, where such thinking occurs it has to be corrected and the
­deficiencies in the education which led to it rectified.
100  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
The second problem is a more practical one, though it too has philosophical
implications. This is that it is hard to see how this could be implemented in a
particular society without sealing that society off as far as possible from other,
‘corrupt’, societies. This is something which would not necessarily worry those
populists who are opposed to migration from other places, particularly
by people from other civilisations whose values are very different. From a liberal
perspective, though, it suggests a closed society which bars its borders to ideas
as well as people. Although the Orbán government does not wish to break ties
with all other countries – it has no plans to follow the United Kingdom out of
the European Union, for example – its dispute with the CEU is coloured by the
fear that such a cosmopolitan institution will cause confusion and uncertainty,
particularly in the minds of those young men and women who might one day
become leaders of the country.
We have seen in Chapter 3 that for liberals like Locke uncertainty is not
something to be fearful of. In the next chapter we will see that from the per-
spective of Mill’s more radical liberalism, uncertainty, and the challenges it
brings to the settled order, is to be welcomed.

Notes
  1 A note on editions of Rousseau’s works. The standard French edition of Rousseau’s
works is the five-volume Oeuvres Complète edited by B. Gagnebin and M. Raymond
(Plėiade, Paris, 1959–1995). Two major scholarly editions of Rousseau’s works are
available in English translation which provide volume and page references to the
Plėiade edition. The first of these, two volumes edited and translated by Victor
Gourevitch in the ‘Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought’ series was
first published in 1997, and a new edition (to which I refer) was published in 2019
(Rousseau 2019a, 2019b). The second is the Collected Writings of Rousseau, various
editors (Hanover, N.H.: University of New England Press 1990–2012): I refer to
individual volumes in the text and Bibliography. In addition I refer to standard
­editions of Emile and the Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre translated with intro-
duction and notes by Alan Bloom (Rousseau 1960, Rousseau 1979) and also to two
other useful collections on international relations (Rousseau 1991) and Bertram’s
edition of The Social Contract and Other Writings (Rousseau 2012) which comple-
ments his excellent study of The Social Contract (Bertram 2004).
 2 For an influential modern discussion of authenticity which recognises Rousseau’s
importance in the history of the idea, which is also critical of his use of the concept,
see Charles Taylor’s The Ethics of Authenticity (1991).
 3 An argument he makes at length in his A Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre
(Rousseau 1960: 79–81)
 4 Discourse on the Sciences and Arts was first published in 1750 and in a new Foreword
published in 1763 Rousseau refers to ‘the unfortunate work’ as being ‘at best medi-
ocre’ (Rousseau 1992: 3), though as Masters and Kelly point out in their editorial
notes, he was willing to see it republished as part of an edition of his collected works
(Rousseau 1992: 203).
 5 This does not necessarily mean that the aspiration to create a truly radically better
society avoids all the problems attributed by liberals to utopian ideas. Karl Popper
criticises utopian plans for society – which he attributes to Plato among others –
because they are inflexible and permit coercion of the population in order to bring
them about. It may be that in practical terms plans to bring about fundamental
changes in society to make it radically better may carry the same problems. Popper’s
criticisms are echoed in some of the CEU’s criticisms of the Orbán government.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau  101
 6 Emile is explicitly about the education of a male student – females are regarded as less
capable and, therefore, require a different education. In this Rousseau differs sharply
from Plato and Mill who both believe that certain women are more intelligent and
deserve a higher and more demanding level of education than do the majority of
men. For a further discussion of Rousseau’s attitude to women in his writings see
Wokler 1993: Chapter 5 and Shklar 1985: 144–5.
  7 Locke, by contrast, argues that a tutor’s involvement with the child’s education and
his moral welfare ends at the time when he becomes ‘within view of matrimony’
(Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section 216).
  8 The examples he gives are ‘most Greek cities’ of antiquity, the Republics of modern
Italy and Geneva (Rousseau 2019b: 72).
 9 Rousseau discusses the role of the Lawgiver in some detail in The Social Contract
Book II, Chapters 7–12 (2019b). There is also an excellent discussion in Bertram
2004: Chapter 7.
10 For this reason I follow Gourevitch (Rousseau 2019b), Bertram (2004: Chapter 7)
and Williams (2014: 89–96) in preferring ‘Lawgiver’ to ‘Lawmaker’ though the
latter term is preferred by some older translators.
11 See Republic 516e–517b. Rousseau seems to have come to think of his own fate in
similar terms.
12 Rousseau and these Central European populists also share a similar self-confidence
(or, depending on one’s point of view, self-righteousness). Such education, Rousseau
maintains, is not for everyone, it is ‘only suitable for free men …’ (Rousseau 2019b:
193). Hungarians and Poles (and not only the populists among them) might well
feel that they have earned the right to be called free having shaken off the tyranny of
the Soviet empire.
13 Unsurprisingly so, as Rousseau often writes approvingly of his own private education.
He was taught at first by his father and then by a private tutor – see Cranston 1982:
23–5.
14 In turn Riley expresses his indebtedness to the work of Judith Shklar, to whom the
book is dedicated (Riley 1986: v).
15 The extent to which the Calvinist theologian of Geneva in the eighteenth century
had modified the theology of Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion was a con-
troversial issue at the time. D’Alembert’s article on Geneva in the Encyclopedia
(d’Alembert 2003), argued that they had departed from most of Calvin’s teachings.
Rousseau, who took considerable exception to the article on a variety of grounds, the
most important of which will be discussed below, argued that it was unhelpful to the
theologians to say this in public, but he did not disagree with the underlying claim.
16 On this see Rousseau 2019b: Social Contract, Book II, Chapter 6.
17 Huntington borrowed the phrase from Sir Walter Scott. The section entitled ‘­Dead
Souls: the denationalization of elites’ in Who Are We (Huntington 2004: 264–73)
captures very powerfully the reasons for nationalist rejection of global elites.
18 Rousseau’s claim that the individual remains free because he is not subordinated to
an external sovereign has similarities in nationalist thinkers who claim that the leader
gives expression to the will of the national community – an idea which many nation-
alists (and some of their critics) trace back to Rousseau.
19 He does think that time may be needed to correct historical wrongs but of course
that implies that there is a goal to be achieved which transcends the particular histor-
ical circumstances of any particular society.
20 Even if it were only a utopian ideal that would still imply a belief in universal values: a
model to be aimed at, even if never achieved – as some have understood Plato’s
Republic to be.
21 This element in Rousseau’s thought fed into Romanticism.
22 The aims and principles are set out in detail on the EHEA website, see European
Higher Education Area (date unknown) ‘European Higher Education Area and
Bologna Process’, www.ehea.info/.
23 This quotation is taken from European Higher Education Area (2018) ‘Statement of
the Fifth Bologna Policy Forum Paris, 25th May 2018’, www.ehea.info/media.ehea.
info/file/2018_Paris/36/8/BPFStatement_with_Annex_958368.pdf.
102  Jean-Jacques Rousseau
24 Mill argues in On Liberty that toleration and even encouragement of dissenting
­eccentrics is one of the signs of a free society. We will see in the Chapter 5 of this
volume that this is indicative of a fundamental disagreement on his part with Rousseau
and of the complex relationship between education and liberty.
25 A point made forcefully by Riley (2001: 133–4).
26 Madison, in defending the foundation of the University of Virginia as a secular
university which refused to appoint professors of theology, acknowledged that this
might lead to public disapproval: ‘Without any such professorships, it may incur for a
time at least, the imputation of irreligious tendencies, if not design’. But he thought
it was outweighed by the benefits for students of not being subjected to religious
teaching. Letter to Edward Everett, 19th March 1823 (Madison 1999: 795).
5 John Stuart Mill
Education and liberty

Education and the Autobiography

John Stuart Mill’s education was in many respects as curious as that which
Rousseau suggested for Emile. Mill was taught at home by his father James who
was a close confidante and colleague of the philosopher and social reformer
Jeremy Bentham. Between them they devised an education for the young Mill
which was intended to prepare him to be the pre-eminent thinker and spokes-
man for Utilitarianism, and for the radical branch of liberalism which Bentham
and James Mill championed.
‘Nobody,’ Locke writes, confident of being unchallenged, ‘can think a boy
of three or seven years old, should be argued with as a grown man. Long dis-
courses, and philosophical reasonings, at best, amaze and confound, but do no
instruct, children’ (Locke 1824: Some Thoughts, Section 81). James Mill did not
agree.
In his Autobiography Mill writes that before he was eight years old he had,
under his father’s guidance, read

a number of Greek prose authors, among whom I remember the whole of

Herodotus, and of Xenophon’s Cyropædia and Memorials of Socrates;
some of the lives of the philosophers by Diogenes Laertius; part of Lucian,
and Isocrates Ad Demonicumand Ad Nicoclem.
(1873: 5; CW, I: 8)1

He also, at the age of seven, read six of Plato’s dialogues, ‘from the Euthyphron
to the Thecetetus’: though in a passage which goes at least some way to redeem
Locke’s claim, he writes that the last of these dialogues ‘had been better
omitted, as it was utterly impossible I should understand it’ (Mill 1873: 5; CW,
I: 8). But his father ‘demanded of me not only the utmost that I could do, but
much that I could by no possibility have done’ (Mill 1873: 5–6; CW, I: 8).
What is probably remarkable to most readers of the Autobiography is not that
a child of seven would find the Theatetus impenetrable but that he could under-
stand the other five Platonic dialogues he had been set to read. Mill claims that
he was not a particularly gifted child (Mill 1981: 32), an assertion that is
patently false, but his experience does add force to the claim that teaching
104  John Stuart Mill
abstract subjects such as philosophy to children can be inherently beneficial even
at primary school age. One of the claimed benefits is that it helps to develop at a
young age the type of critical and enquiring mind which is conducive to active
citizenship, and this view Mill, and his father, would strongly endorse. Mill
emphasises the importance in his own education of learning to think critically,
rather than simply acquiring facts (Mill 1873: 31; CW, I: 35).
James Mill’s policy of making demands upon his son which he could not
possibly achieve is one that many twenty-first century teachers would reject as
counterproductive and harmful to the self-esteem of the student. His approach
to teaching also involved other unpleasant practices, such as the use of harsh,
sometimes contemptuous language (CW, I: 48) which would undoubtedly have
raised the concerns of modern school inspectors. Despite this, Mill argues that
when the desire of the teacher is for the ultimate good of the pupils, the ill
effects that might arise through the desire to stretch them and push them to
achieve their best is better than an education in which they never achieve their
full potential.
James Mill had read Emile and Nicholas Capaldi suggests that this influenced
his belief in the need to control the environment in which a child is educated
and exclude bad influences (Capaldi 2004: 21). Collini takes the reference to
Emile further when he suggests that the Autobiography is more akin to Emile
than it is to Rousseau’s Confessions (Collini 1984: xlix). We might add that it is
closer to how a highly intelligent and independently minded Emile might come
to reflect on the way in which he was guided by his tutor. The great difference
between the two models of education might seem to be that James Mill, as Mill
himself recognises, taught his son to think for himself. On a generous reading
of Emile, that is Rousseau’s aim as well (though such a reading is more difficult
to maintain in Rousseau’s discussion of education in Poland), but it is hard to
see how the manipulation of Emile’s environment and the acts of deception
could lead to the kind of independent individual that Mill, in large parts
became. That said, James Mill clearly was a controlling person – and his son’s
fear of him is an indication of this, as he relates at various places in his Auto-
biography (for example CW, I: 52–4) – but this seems to have been more a
matter of personal temperament than of pedagogic theory. In some important
respects James Mill’s approach to education has similarities with Locke’s. There
is a common stress on the need to avoid too much interaction with other boys,
because of the potential for bad influence (CW, I: 38–9) but also – in contrast
to Rousseau – a willingness to encourage the child to engage in serious discus-
sion with older people. Mill himself refers to what he recalls as his sometimes
(unintentionally) rude manner in discussion with adults but many of these
adults seem to have taken little umbrage at the precocious young man (CW, I:
37). Some, like the economist David Ricardo, became close friends (CW, I: 55).
Mill also spent a year in France at the age of 14 with Samuel Bentham and his
family whose outlook and way of life were rather different to Samuel’s brother
Jeremy. In addition to the experience of a very different family life, the stay in
France provided the very English Mill with a lasting love of France and French
liberalism (CW, I: 56–62), an openness to the culture of another society of
 John Stuart Mill  105
which Emile’s tutor would have strongly disapproved, especially in one so
young.
The differences between James Mill and Rousseau are further widened when
we consider that James Mill’s view of education, and the experience of it by his
son, was far from Rousseau’s ideal of an education in which the child is not
hindered from pursuing his natural inclinations by the need to read books.
­
Emile was denied access to books until well into his teens while, as we have
seen, Mill was reading Plato in Greek by the age of seven.

Democracy and the need for an education

in critical thinking
As a young man Mill had been taught by his father and by Jeremy Bentham to
be an ardent advocate of democracy. He remained a democrat all his life, but
through the influence particularly of Harriet Taylor,2 his companion and later
wife, and of Alexis de Tocqueville,3 his concept of democracy evolves as Mill
realises the complexity involved in creating the kind of democratic society which
liberals like himself were trying to bring about in nineteenth century Britain.
This underlines two important reasons why Mill’s writing on education and
democracy are particularly relevant to today. The first is that he is grappling
with problems of how to nurture and embed democratic practices which are still
very real in those parts of the world where democracy is relatively new and
where it may be fragile. The second, which is especially germane to our pur-
poses, is how to respond to challenges to the liberal values which Mill takes to
be essential by people who feel that they are disadvantaged by the political and
economic circumstances. The two are connected in Mill’s approach by the fear
that if people are enfranchised too soon – or in the wrong way – they may pose
a threat to social order, but the equally strong belief that extension of the
franchise and the encouragement of civic engagement are morally imperative.
In both cases a major part of dealing with the problem lies in ensuring the
right kind of education and part of the reason for this concern about stability
and order has to do with what Mill refers to as the serious imperfection of
education in England. In a phrase that will strike many modern readers, liberals
as well as populists, as offensively elitist he writes that he and Harriet Taylor
‘dreaded the ignorance and especially the selfishness and brutality of the
mass …’ (Mill 1873: 231; CW, I: 239). Yet such an attitude was, as we dis-
cussed in Chapter 1, widespread among liberals in the nineteenth century and
only began to disappear as the newly enfranchised working men were seen to
take their responsibilities seriously. Linked to this fear of the uneducated masses
is also a concern about what Mill, in On Liberty, following Tocqueville, refers to
as ‘the tyranny of the majority’ (CW, XVIII: 217–20) and he argues that the
great problem for the future will be how to reconcile individual liberty with the
need for radical changes in the economic and social conditions of society. In
what is to more recent eyes another equally unfortunate turn of phrase in the
Autobiography, he argues that for such a far-reaching change to happen it will
require that ‘an equivalent change of character must take place both in the
106  John Stuart Mill
uncultivated herd who now compose the labouring masses, and in the immense
majority of their employers’. ‘Education, habit and the cultivation of the senti-
ments …’ (Mill 1873: 232; CW, I: 239) will be central to accomplishing this,
but it will be a slow process: ‘it is only by slow degrees, and a system of culture
prolonged through successive generations, that men in general can be brought
up to this point’ (Mill 1873: 233; CW, I: 239–41). There are echoes here of
Plato’s fears about the potential for democratic societies to be driven by irra-
tional, confused and self-centred individuals, and for a demagogue to usurp the
place of rational, selfless rulers. Mill’s view of Plato will be discussed later in this
chapter (pp. 113ff.).
In this respect, Mill’s political thought seems to be the antithesis of
­populism. It is distrustful of the mass of the people and, in On Representative
Government, he does not even trust their elected representatives to write laws
(CW, XIX: Chapter V). This said, there are other aspects to Mill’s thought
which contribute to a more complex picture. One of these is his emphasis
(which he also shares with Tocqueville) on the need for greater political parti-
cipation to help maintain freedom from over weaning governments. These
might include local school boards, local government, churches (the Unitarian
Church produced many radical thinkers and activists, including Harriet Taylor)
and, particularly later in life, as part of a growing sympathy with aspects of
socialism and workers’ cooperatives ‘as the intermediate institutions between
the individual and the large industrial enterprise’ (Capaldi 2004: 127). This ref-
erence to intermediate institutions is a particularly important one in Mill, as it is
in Tocqueville, but it directly challenges the idea of a single, united general will.
In this, again, Mill is at odds with populism (and with Rousseau) but it reflects
a very important aspect of Mill’s version of liberalism and helps to offer a signi-
ficant alternative to populism. Most importantly, perhaps, it recognises the
danger not only of the tyranny of the majority in terms of social pressure but
also the way in which governments can manipulate the views of the majority
either for its own malign purposes or because it genuinely believes that in doing
so it is truly expressing the will of the people. This latter problem is one which,
it was argued in the last chapter, Rousseau is unable to satisfactorily deal with in
Considerations on the Government of Poland because, in part, of the government’s
very tight control of the educational institutions of the state. Among the most
important roles of intermediate institutions is to provide bulwarks against
government power, both through creating countervailing centres of power and
by providing people with the skills and confidence to defend their interests and
the interests of others. This latter role may potentially contribute significantly to
an education which encourages critical thinking and personal autonomy is
indispensable.
It might be thought, particularly in the light of Mill’s ill-measured references
to the majority of people in the earlier quotations from his Autobiography that
he is, at least in some moods, too pessimistic about the ability of ordinary
people to take a serious and informed interest in political affairs. But Mill
responds positively to what he sees as the responsible and measured behaviour
of the newly enfranchised, in a manner similar to the that of Gladstone and
 John Stuart Mill  107
other Liberal Party politicians who become increasingly optimistic about the
capacity of working-class men to participate seriously in political life following
the extension of the franchise.4
Mill recognises the importance of institutional reform – in addition to
matters of broad principles such as his advocacy of the widening of the franchise
to include women, he also engages in detailed discussion on issues such as pro-
portional representation5 – but the most important change it is necessary to
bring about is in ideas.
Mill argues that in times of social change and upheaval (such as he is living
through) new ideas are more likely to be given serious attention. In such cir-
cumstances it is possible that by a wide and thoughtful acceptance of those ideas
which are progressive significant improvements may be achieved. He is also
aware, though, that this ‘necessarily transitory’ period of flux will come to an
end and that in the emerging period of a new stability these erstwhile critical
ideas and values will become embraced as the norms and that ‘education
impresses this new creed upon the new generations without the mental
­processes that have led to it …’ (Mill 1873: 254; CW, I: 259–60). Mill believes
that the use of education to inculcate values in this way, as if they could not be
challenged – which is what new periods of stability have always done hitherto –
is ‘obnoxious’ and he hopes that his writings will help to prevent this happening
again. Among the reasons for this cautious optimism is the belief that a
­widespread use of the Socratic Method will help prevent this.
Another point emerges from this argument, which is closely tied to the need
for critical thinking. If all ideas are open for discussion, this ought to include
liberalism and democracy. Indeed, Mill’s own views on democracy are modified
over time as he comes, partly, as we have seen, under the influence of
­Tocqueville, to fear the tyranny of the majority but also as he is increasingly
influenced towards the end of his life by socialist ideas (CW, I: 241). Perhaps
Mill would say the same of our current time when liberal democracy is being
challenged by populists from within as well as authoritarians from without. He
might well view with a measure of sympathy at least some aspects of the policies
of a populist government which takes power following a period of economic,
political and intellectual upheaval when many different ideas have been widely
discussed. The emergence of populist governments in Eastern Europe may be
partially explained in terms of the long period of change which followed the
collapse of communism including both the harmful consequences of an abrupt
introduction of free market economics and the exposure of the populations of
countries such as Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, as it then was, to liberal
political and moral values from Western liberal democracies. The educational
policies such as that of the Hungarian government of Viktor Orbán, with its
emphasis on Roman Catholic moral values and its dislike of subjects such as
gender studies, which it regards as in conflict with those values, might then be
seen as a reaction to the period of flux and an attempt to assert the values it
regards as essential to the health and well-being of its society.
Mill would undoubtedly be critical of many of the educational policies which
have been embraced as a result of these changes, particularly those rooted in
108  John Stuart Mill
Roman Catholic moral teaching, against which he would repeat his warning
against the ‘obnoxious power’ which a misuse of education could wield over
successive generations. But while this may be true, he would also agree that it is
equally possible that ideas of liberalism and liberal democracy might become
oppressive if taught uncritically. Mill himself is critical of many liberals of his
own day who, for example, frequently reject the idea of votes for women in
parliamentary elections (and of women standing for parliament).6
Mill’s point is that any set of values, even the most liberal, is in danger of
becoming a means of social control (perhaps as part of the tyranny of the
majority, but not necessarily so, or not exclusively so) if not subjected to con-
stant criticisms and development. This is not necessarily because people con-
sciously set out to be oppressive: it may result from the best of intentions. But
unless ideas are subject to constant analysis and critical reflection – a process in
which education has a crucial and continuing role – the danger is there. Indeed,
the danger is a constant one, which is why one of the most important roles of
education is to provide the tools for critical analysis to enable active, educated
citizens to meet it head on.

Developing the self

This criticism that education based on liberal values may teach in such a way
that liberal principles may be accepted uncritically has already been encountered
during the discussion of Locke’s theory of education in Chapter 3 (pp. 64ff.).
I argued there that Locke had strong arguments against this criticism, but Mill
offers an additional strand to the augment through his analysis of
self-development.
This is an important theme in On Liberty (CW, XVIII), its central signifi-
cance being alluded to in the epigraph from Wilhelm von Humboldt which Mill
places at the front of the book.

The grand, leading principle, towards which every argument unfolded in

these pages directly converges, is the absolute and essential importance of
human development in its richest diversity.

It is also evident in the justification he offers in the Autobiography for publish-

ing a detailed account of his own education:

… in an age of transition in opinions, there may be somewhat both of

interest and of benefit in noting the successive phases of any mind which
was always pressing forward, equally ready to learn and to unlearn either
from its own thoughts or from those of others.
(Mill 1873: 1–2; CW, I: 5)

Some commentators have argued that Mill’s concept of the evolving self is
primarily rooted in the Romantic notion of Bildung (Capaldi 2004: 70), but
while it is generally accepted that Mill was influenced by Romantic writers such
 John Stuart Mill  109
as Coleridge and Wordsworth at the time of his mental crisis, and later, the
lasting effect of their influence, and its depth, are matters of greater conjecture.
At the very least, it is important to emphasise that Mill’s notion of a developing
self, of openness to new ideas and the willingness to both ‘learn and unlearn’
owes a great deal his acceptance of an empiricist epistemology. The comparison
with Locke here is important. Locke’s claim that we can, in the physical world
at least, at best arrive at an understanding of the truth, ‘for the time being’ is
one which Mill strongly endorses.
Philip and Rosen link this idea of the developing self to the nurturing of a
good character and they draw out some of the key implications of very help-
fully: ‘Active, independent character requires a capacity for reflection, question-
ing, and self-examination on the part of individuals. It is the ability to make
one’s beliefs and commitments one’s own, rather than merely inheriting or pas-
sively accepting them’ (Mill 2015: xix). Mill’s view, as it is characterised here, is
again reminiscent of Locke’s views, both in Some Thoughts Concerning Education
and On the Correct Use of the Understanding. It also draws on Mill’s interpretation
of the Socratic Method.
One of the implications for education is that this emphasis on self-develop-
ment might seem to be in conflict with the idea of educating people to be active
citizens concerned for the well-being of the community as a whole. Mill does
not see this as a problem. An education which encourages self-development
through constant reflection and critical analysis is not narcissistic: it is constantly
open to new ideas and to challenging one’s own convictions. Very importantly,
it will aim to develop a person who has is self-confident enough to articulate his
or her criticisms of society and to put forward well thought out alternatives.
It must be said, though, that the way in which Mill sometimes presents this
confident self, notably in On Liberty, can at times appear overly acerbic, such as
when he argues that there may be a justification for aggressive use of language
which goes beyond what is conventionally acceptable (CW, XVIII: 258–9).
This, and his enthusiastic endorsement of the Socratic Method, invites compari-
son with the way in which Socrates was regarded as an irritant by many Athenians.
There is need on occasion to temper the image which Mill sometimes employs
of the brave, honourable, but also eccentric, individual pitted against society
with arguments drawn from Locke’s account of civility. Locke’s argument that a
primary purpose of education is to nurture a sense of civility in a person’s
­character is something which can help to clarify and deepen Mill’s account of
education as a social as well as an individual process.
This problem of overemphasising the isolation of the individual, can be
further alleviated by recognising that this ideal of development and self-reflection
is not limited to the individual. Mill does recognise that communities of people
can also grow and develop in a way analogous with the growth and develop-
ment of the individual. Personal development is not something that occurs in
isolation, as it does for the young Emile, but as part of a community, though in
a way that is significantly different from Rousseau’s ideas in C ­ onsiderations on
the Government of Poland.7 One of the important ways in which Mill address
this is through his discussion of nationality.
110  John Stuart Mill
Nationality
In the initial definition of populism in Chapter 1 I suggested that one concern
some liberals have expressed over the growth of populism during the past few
years has been the use by populist politicians of rhetoric that incorporates the
language of nationalism. This fear of the negative aspects of nationalism is
reflected in the liberal support for avowedly internationalist programmes of
educational institutions such as the CEU. Such cosmopolitan liberals see the
nationalism of the nineteenth century as a phase through which Western society
should have passed but which metamorphosed into anti-liberal integral nation-
alism in the first half of the twentieth century. From such a perspective, current
populist expressions of nationalism are highly suspect because it is impossible to
return to the earlier liberal nationalism which reflected a particular time in the
evolution of Western society.
There is, though, a different strand of liberal thought which maintains that
certain forms of nationalism are compatible with liberalism, and may even con-
tribute to the success of liberal states. This defence of liberal nationalism owes a
great debt to Mill’s writing about nationality, whose account in Considerations
on Representative Government recognises the power of national sentiment and
argues that in many cases it provides a strong basis for a peaceful and stable
political society. Mill couches this in democratic terms, of people being able to
choose their own governments and the arrangements for their political associ-
ation. He begins the chapter entitled ‘Of Nationality, as Connected with Repre-
sentative Government’ by defining the term ‘nationality’:

A portion of mankind may be said to constitute a nationality if they are

united among themselves by common sympathies which do not exist
between them and any others – which make them co-operate with each
other more willingly than with other people, desire to be under the same
government, and desire that it should be government by themselves, or a
portion of themselves, exclusively.
(Mill 1865: 120; CW, XIX: 547)

These common sympathies might arise from a shared language or religion, but
it will most often, and most successfully, be based on a strong sense of a shared
history. The basis of national identity, in this view, is partly emotional, a sense
of belonging and sharing which necessarily includes some and excludes others.
The exclusion need not involve dislike or disapproval, nor should it lead to viol-
ence. Moreover, the relationship between nationality and representative govern-
ment can be defended as an eminently rational and liberal arrangement. ‘Where
the sentiment of nationality exists in any force, there is a primâ facie case for
uniting all the members of the nationality under the same government, and a
government to themselves apart’, he writes a little further on, adding a very
important consideration: ‘This is merely saying that the question of government
ought to be decided by the governed’ (Mill 1865: 120; CW, XIX: 547). This
seems to be giving priority to democratic decision making over national s­ entiment,
 John Stuart Mill  111
as if the more fundamental principle is the importance of free choice and
nationality is a secondary matter. This reading is, at least partially, correct; Mill
does argue that the justification for people being able to choose to live in the
same nation is that they are exercising their democratic freedom. But there is an
additional point which adds a further complexity to the argument. ‘Free institu-
tions’, he writes, a little further on in the same paragraph, ‘are next to imposs-
ible in a country made up of different nationalities’ (Mill 1865: 120; CW, XIX:
547). This seems to suggest a particular importance for national identity and its
necessity for a liberal society to flourish which is very different from those later
versions of liberalism which see national identity as both transitory and a
­hindrance to the acceptance of cosmopolitan values.
Such an argument has been seen by liberal critics such as Kymlicka (1995a,
1995b) and Parekh (1994) as illiberal and betraying an imperialist outlook and
a disregard for the interests of small nations. They point, for example, to what
they take to be Mill’s claim that small and less advanced nations may be
absorbed into larger ones to the advantage of both. It is beneficial, he claims for
Bretons and Basques to be part of the ‘highly civilized and cultured’ French
nation, ‘admitted on equal terms to all the privileges of French citizenship ..
than to sulk on his own rocks, the half-savage relic of past times, revolving in his
own little mental orbit…’ (Mill 1865: 122; CW, XIX: 549). He claims that this
applies also to ‘the Welshman, the Scottish Highlander’ and, a little further on
in the chapter, to Irish people, as members of the British nation.
There are, though, problems with this view of Mill as an English imperialist.
Georgios Varouxakis points out, in the course of a detailed and critical discus-
sion of the views of Kymlicka and Parekh, that Mill’s contention that the
Bretons and Basques should be admitted on equal terms to all the privileges
of French citizenship suggests a coming together of equals rather than a
­domination of one by the other (Varouxakis 2002: 14).
Moreover, Mill has a further argument, in the next paragraph, which under-
lines this point further, and undermines the suggestion of an ethnic superiority.
This mixing of different nationalities is effective because ‘[t]he united people,
like a crossed breed of animals (but in a still greater degree, because the influ-
ences in operation are moral as well as physical), inherits the special aptitudes
and excellences of all its progenitors …’. In other words, mixing of different
national cultures reinvigorates and strengths both.
Mill’s emphasis on the importance of members of the minority culture being
admitted on equal terms, and the consequent intermingling of the identities, is
indicative of his belief that nations are not fixed and immutable but grow and
develop through new influences. Nevertheless, this raises questions about how
such incorporation is dealt with in the education system of the merged nation.
If a genuinely new culture is to emerge, the education system will have to reflect
that, but this is very difficult to do particularly if, as in the cases to which Mill
refers, the languages of the merging cultures are different. In Wales during the
nineteenth century, to take one of his examples, children in Welsh schools were
sometimes forbidden to speak Welsh while at school, even though it was their
first language, and were punished for doing so.8
112  John Stuart Mill
Mill is clearly very concerned by the lack of ‘fellow-feeling’, as he terms it,
and his arguments have a broader application to the significance of identity in
politics.

Among a people without fellow-feeling, especially if they read and speak

different languages, the united public opinion necessary to the working of
representative government cannot exist. The influences which form opin-
ions and decide political acts are different in the different sections of the
country. An altogether different set of leaders have the confidence of one
part of the country and of another. The same books, newspapers,
­pamphlets, speeches, do not reach them. One section does not know what
opinions or what instigations are circulating in another. The same inci-
dents, the same acts, the same system of government, affect them in
different ways, and each fears more injury to itself from the other nationali-
ties than from the common arbiter, the state. Their mutual antipathies are
generally much stronger than jealousy of the government.
(Mill 1865: 120–1; CW, XIX: 547)

This is very relevant to the situation in liberal democracies where even though
people may speak the same linguistic language they read different newspapers,
watch different television channels (Fox News and CNN, for example, speak
very different political languages) and follow like-minded people on social
media.
Mill’s belief in the importance of nationality would not lead him to support
the forms of aggressive nationalism that were such a blight on the twentieth
century. Mill’s position does, though, suggest a view of nationalism which
might be all the more valuable precisely because he did not know the ways in
which it would come to be misused and is able to view the significance of
national sentiment more dispassionately. This is particularly so with regard to
understanding nationalism in the context of populism. An increasing number of
liberal writers such as Francis Fukuyama (Fukuyama 2018b) and John B. Judis
(Judis 2018) argue the need for a more nuanced account of nationalism which
addresses at least some of the concerns which populists and their supporters
have.9 Recognising the importance of nationalist sentiment does not require
accepting all the negative qualities which weigh so heavily on the mind of
someone who has learned of the horrors of Nazism but nor need it be seen as a
passing phase on the road to a more rational and enlightened political order. In
this respect it may be an important counter balance to the cosmopolitan dis-
missal of national sentiment as reactionary and illiberal. It also has extremely
important implications for education.
Clearly one way in which national identity is reinforced is through education,
and it is at least plausible to argue that agreement on a basic national curric-
ulum is necessary to ensure the growth and sustainability of a national identity.
This might seem close to populist education policies such as those of the Hun-
garian government of Viktor Orbán. But there is an important difference. Mill,
as we discussed earlier, fears the danger of an education system which is controlled
 John Stuart Mill  113
by the state as a threat to liberty. This suggests a variety of different interpretations
of the shared sense of identity – reflected currently in the United Kingdom, for
example, by the different national curricula established following the devolved
settlements in England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. Mill does not
see this as the problem that populists do because he believes that the freedom to
challenge particular interpretations – perhaps especially official government
interpretations – is central to a free society, and that education should prepare
children to become confident, questioning adults. But he differs from the CEU
too, because he sees the importance of belonging, of engaging in discussion and
criticism as a member of a community, not as a detached outsider.
The tension in Mill’s thought between the autonomy of the individual and
the responsibilities as a citizen to promote and sustain a stable, cohesive society
has significant implications for his view of education.
The first is that for Mill education ought not to be merely vocational,
although practical skills are important and are part of the key to developing the
individual both personally and politically. One aim, perhaps in some ways its
most significant, ought to be to allow the individual to be able to develop his or
her own potential, the principle he emphasises so strongly in his account of self-
development in On Liberty. In seeking to achieve this aim Mill explicitly invokes
the Socratic Method in On Liberty. Later in life he came to see universities as
having a particular role in promoting such education, an idea spelled out in
detail in his address on being elected by the students as Rector of St Andrews
University (CW, XXI: 217–20, 253–5).
The second implication is that such an education equips citizens to actively
participate as free-thinking individuals in the political life of their society. One of
the ways in which Mill’s position is different to populism is his rejection of the
populist appeal to the will of the people as an undivided whole, which Mill believes
very often means the will of the people as interpreted by their leaders (CW, XVIII:
218–19).10 For Mill, every citizen has a duty to critically assess the policies of gov-
ernment and opposition, and division and debate within society is a sign of its
political health.11 The Socratic Method is again of central importance here.

Mill and Plato

The Socratic Method
These references to Mill’s advocacy of the Socratic Method and mention of
them elsewhere in this chapter requires further discussion, as does his relation-
ship to Plato more generally. Mill’s view of Plato was complex and reflected a
wider Victorian ambiguity about Plato’s political philosophy and the Platonic
theory of education (Jenkyns 1984: Chapter X).
In his Autobiography, Mill says that studying Plato was one of the greatest
influences on his intellectual development and in On Liberty, he writes approv-
ingly of the Socratic Method, arguing that the clash of ideas which it encour-
ages is the best way to achieve understanding and to show up the faults in one’s
own (as well as other peoples’) reasoning. It is, he thinks, an essential tool of
114  John Stuart Mill
education in a liberal society, and modern education has nothing that can
improve upon it (CW, XVIII: 251).
Mill provides an extended discussion of Plato is in his long review of George
Grote’s three volume study Plato and Other Companions of Sokrates. Grote’s
book was published in 1865 and Mill’s review appeared in The Edinburgh
Review of April 1866. Both the book and review shared the leisurely Victorian
length of such works, with the review occupying pages 275–379 of the journal.
Grote and Mill were friends and they shared a common sympathy for Utilitari-
anism, though Mill’s version was more flexible and sophisticated. Mill’s discus-
sion of the book was positive and laudatory, and Grote professed himself
delighted with it, but the article is much more than a review. Although Mill had
clearly read Grote’s book closely, as he had also read, and separately reviewed,
Grote’s History of Greece, the review of Plato and Other Contemporaries of
Sokrates is at least as much about Mill’s view of Plato as it is about Grote’s. In
the following paragraphs I will discuss Mill’s ideas in the article without refer-
ence to Grote (as, it must be said, Mill himself does of Plato’s ideas for much of
the review).
Central to Mill’s view of Plato is Mill’s attempt, which was discussed in
Chapter 2, to draw a sharp distinction between the Socratic Method and what
he regards as Plato’s speculative philosophy. Mill is dismissive of the meta-
physical foundations of the theory of Forms, a position he makes clear on the
second page of the review. Mill’s argument here is motivated on part by a rejec-
tion of Neoplatonism, which he considers to be a later mixture of decadent
Greek thought and Oriental speculation but most significantly, he claims that
what little connection it has with Plato ‘belongs chiefly to the decadence of
Plato’s own mind’ (CW, XI: 378). This last phrase is important because it illus-
trates at the very beginning of Mill’s discussion his view that Plato’s thought
deteriorated from a position where he was open minded with no fixed opinions
on anything and to which the Socratic Method was central, to a late stage at
which he abandoned a critical approach altogether and became, in one of Mill’s
favoured terms of abuse, a ‘dogmatist’ (CW, XI: 413).
Mill is highly critical of the metaphysical speculations of the pre-Socratic
philosophers, whose views he regards as obscure and sometimes unintelligible.
Socrates, he argues, challenged these ideas and what is valuable in Plato arises
from the interpretation and continuation of the Socratic Method (CW, XI:
381–2). But the Socratic Plato’s most important enemy was, in Mill’s view, not
the Pre-Socratics, nor the Sophists, to whom Mill, in common with Grote and
other mid-nineteenth century liberal thinkers, is very sympathetic because of
their willingness to engage in critical debate and challenge received opinion.
The real target of Socrates’ criticisms was what Mill refers to as the
‘commonplace’,

… the acceptance of traditional opinions and current sentiment as an ulti-

mate fact; and bandying of the abstract terms which express approbation
and disapprobation, desire and aversion, admiration and disgust, as if they
had a meaning thoroughly understood and universally assented to. The
 John Stuart Mill  115
men of his day (like those of ours) thought that they knew what Good and
Evil, Just and Unjust, Honourable and Shameful, were because they could
use the words glibly, and affirm them of this and that, in agreement with
existing custom.
(CW, XI: 403)

Here Mill is taking up an argument which he returns to in the Autobiography,

and which was discussed in the previous section. For much of the time, societies
simply reinforce unthinkingly established ideas and beliefs. In his inaugural
address as Rector of the University of St. Andrews he links this glibness and
unquestioning reliance on existing custom to a bad education:

Whatever helps to shape the human being, to make the individual what he
is, or to hinder him from what he is not – is part of his education. And a
very bad education it often is; requiring all that can be done by cultivated
intelligence and will, to counteract its tendencies.
(CW, XXI: 217)

A central purpose of education in a liberal society is to develop in future citizens

the capacity to be critically minded so that they may challenge these confused
ideas. They will be taught how to apply negative reasoning (the Socratic
Method) to demonstrate the inconsistencies in many commonplace beliefs and
also how to develop the positive skills of uncovering and clarifying the common
elements of concepts such as justice (CW, XI: 229–30).
Mill’s insistence on the importance of challenging commonly held beliefs is
developed most powerfully in On Liberty where he argues that the liberty of adult
individuals, in what they think and say, and in how they act, should be sacrosanct
and restricted only in cases where their speech or their actions would deliberately
harm others (CW, XVIII: 223). He refers admiringly to Socrates as someone who
shared, and was indeed a martyr for, this view (CW, XVIII: 235). For Mill,
Socrates and the Socratic Method represented what was best in Plato (CW, I: 25).
Critics of Mill have sometimes argued that the idea of unrestricted free-
speech is problematic, an argument which brings us back to a criticism in
Chapter 2 of undemocratic aspects of the Socrates Method. Jason Stanley raises
the question directly in the context of current debates about threats to liberal
democracy. Why, he asks, do conspiracy theories gain so much traction in
modern literate societies when they are so obviously irrational? Should not the
airing of public debate quickly show them to be absurd? He refers to Mill’s
argument in On Liberty; that it is wrong to silence any opinion, however out-
landish, because knowledge arises, in Mill’s striking phrase, ‘from the collision
[of truth] with error’ (Stanley 2018: 67).
Stanley makes two important points in criticism of this view, which he refers
to as ‘the motif of “a marketplace of ideas” ’. His first criticism is that on this
reading of Mill’s view such conversations are always carried out by rational
people offering reasoned views which can be countered by other reasoned
­arguments. In practice, as Stanley argues, language is used for many purposes,
116  John Stuart Mill
including, in the context of debate, ‘to shut out perspectives, raise fears, and
heighten prejudice’ (Stanley 2018: 67–8). He quotes an eloquent passage from
Ernst Cassirer’s The Myth of the State, on how the corruption of the German
language caused by Nazi politics, propaganda and education meant that ‘words
which formerly were used in a descriptive, logical, or semantic sense are now
used as magic words that are destined to produce certain effects and to stir up
certain emotions’ (quoted in Stanley 2018: 68).
Stanley’s second criticism is that Mill fails to realise that in order to engage in
a meaningful debate the participants must share ‘a set of assumptions about the
world’ (Stanley 2018: 68). He appears to be thinking here of shared under-
standings of good reasoning, but the argument also returns us to the notion of
civility. I have already argued that Mill, like Socrates, risks undermining civility
by his championing of aggressive debate. What would provide the basis of a
shared set of assumptions about the world is a common education which pro-
motes a particular understanding of what it is to be a citizen of that society and
of how to conduct oneself as a member of society. Education, therefore, as
Locke argues, must involve an element of cultivating moral virtues, one of
which is the virtue of civility.
The problem with this is, as we have already discussed in Chapter 3, how can
an education in civility be achieved without stifling a critical, enquiring spirit?
There clearly is a great danger here. Stanley discusses at several places in his
book the way in which education can, if brought under the control of authorit-
arian governments, be used as a means of control12 (Stanley 2018: 36, 48–52).
If Locke is right to argue that there is a need for an education which induces a
sense of civility, how are we to avoid the danger raised by Bejan (2017) and
others that it will be intolerant of other views?
As discussed in Chapter 3, Locke argues that a certain kind of intolerance is
acceptable, and even desirable, in a liberal society. He does so by distinguishing
between those who criticise the liberal values which are widely held within that
society and those wish to undermine the most fundamental values of the society,
which he thinks are distinct from liberalism. Locke uses this distinction when he
argues that toleration should not be extended to atheists because, lacking belief in
a divine enforcer of morality, they cannot be trusted to act morally. Here the
liberal principle of freedom of thought is trumped by a religious principle which is
foundational to the societal values of seventeenth century England, and which
was widely shared among Christians of different traditions. Decline in religious
belief, particularly theistic belief, means that finding what such foundation prin-
ciples are in a secular Western democracy is no easy matter, and may be one
reason why many populists embrace a religious foundation to society.
This last point is not meant to deny the significance of the deeply held reli-
gious convictions of many devout Europeans and Americans. Rather, it recog-
nises a point made by Charles Taylor in A Secular Age that ‘… faith, even for
the staunchest believer is one human possibility among others’. ‘I may find it
inconceivable that I would abandon my belief’, he continues, ‘but there are
others … whose way of living I cannot in all honesty just dismiss as depraved, or
blind, or unworthy, who have no faith (at least not in God, or the transcendent)’
 John Stuart Mill  117
(Taylor 2007: 3). Taylor depicts a condition that would be recognisable to
many Europeans or North Americans since the nineteenth century, and one
which Mill would have no difficulty in endorsing.13 For most of Locke’s
­contemporaries, by contrast, such a situation would have been unimaginable.
Yet, as Taylor points out later in the paragraph from which I have quoted,
recognising the reality of non-religious views and practices has sometimes led
religious believers to question their own faith and on occasion to abandon it
entirely. If this is coupled with a rigorous application of the Socratic Method, as
advocated by Mill, it becomes very difficult to find a consensus about any prin-
ciples, moral and political as well as religious. Mill’s discussion of nationality is
intended to address this problem in a pragmatic fashion. I will return to some of
the implications of this in the next chapter.

Experts
Despite his disdain for the ‘dogmatic’ Plato, Mill shares with the Plato of the
Republic a belief in the indispensability of highly skilled experts. Indeed, in his
review of Grote’s Plato he attributes to Socrates as well as Plato, the belief that
‘morals and politics are an affair of science, to be understood only after severe
study and special training …’ (CW, XI: 382). This was one reason why,
although he certainly does not agree with Plato’s outright rejection of demo-
cracy, he does have reservations about aspects of democratic government. The
best form of government in a democracy, he argues, is one in which the citizens
do not make decisions about policy directly but elect representatives who, being
well-educated and of high moral purpose, would make wise decisions on their
behalf. Aware that this picture of Members of Parliament might seem idealistic
to his British readership, Mill also argues, in another clear difference with Plato,
for the importance of promoting universal education so that citizens would
become increasingly able to choose their representatives wisely and judge
whether they should be re-elected (CW, XIX: 470–1).
Like Plato, Mill sees the extension of the franchise to people who are poorly
educated as a serious problem, but this reflects only part of Mill’s position. Mill
believes that education can help to develop everyone’s potential far more than
either Plato or many of Mill’s own nineteenth century contemporaries were
willing to accept. So important was the dissemination of this idea to Mill that he
says it is one of the purposes which motivated his writing of the Autobiography.
This is introduced in the opening paragraph:

… I have thought that in an age in which education, and its improvement,

are the subject of more, if not of profounder study than at any former
period of English history, it may be useful that there should be some record
of an education which was unusual and remarkable, and which, whatever
else it may have done, has proved how much more than is commonly sup-
posed may be taught, and well taught, in those early years which, in the
common modes of what is called instruction, are little better than wasted.
(Mill 1873: 1; CW, I: 5)
118  John Stuart Mill
He grapples in On Liberty and Considerations on Representative Government with
the problem of how to promote democratic government at a time of poor educa-
tion but a major part of his solution to resolving this is to improve e­ducation.
Some of the limits which he seeks to impose on democracy in C ­ onsiderations on
Representative Government may be seen as temporary expedients until the general
population has benefited from the introduction of universal education. His argu-
ment, mentioned earlier, that an expert committee, not Members of Parliament,
should draft laws is not an argument that some people are more intelligent than
others but that they have acquired a different level of expertise. To use one of
Mill’s favourite example, that of the surgeon, one would not wish to be operated
upon in hospital by an expert in drafting parliamentary legislation, but equally
one would not expect a surgeon to be able to draft legislation (not even, perhaps
on matters directly related to surgery, though the draftsmen or draftswomen
might seek the surgeon’s specialist advice).
As liberals like Mill came to accept that a serious electorate could be trusted
to act responsibly, the opposition to the extension of the franchise lessened. But
the belief that extension of the franchise was morally and politically required
went hand in hand with a belief that there was a duty to improve education so
that the newly enfranchised could exercise their votes in a serious and measured
fashion.
This should not be understood in paternalistic terms, as if Mill were advo-
cating a system whereby people were taught what to think and how to act. Here
again it is important to emphasise that he differs strongly with Plato’s argument,
and that of Rousseau in Poland, that education should be centrally controlled
by the state. This approach to education has been much utilised by religiously
orientated governments in the past, a practice to which Mill is adamantly
opposed, and also by authoritarian governments in the twentieth and twenty-
first centuries with their emphasis both on sound education and the need to
­‘re-educate’ dissenters. It is also seen by liberal critics as a policy which populists
in power are tempted to pursue. On this last point Mill would sympathise with
the policy of the CEU to promote critical thinking, and with its aim to educate
students to become autonomous individuals, rather than with the Orbán gov-
ernment’s wish to develop a state education system based on its interpretation
of Hungarian values and Roman Catholic moral teaching.

Educating adults
One obvious objection to the various movements to extend the franchise in
nineteenth century Britain was that even if, as Mill strongly advocates, universal
education for children would eventually produce adults capable of exercising
the vote in a responsible manner, that would not help current adults. Might it
not be better to wait until after the education reforms could be put into practice
and eventually bear fruit? Mill himself puts forward a similar line of argument
when warning against what he saw as the danger of too hasty a transfer of power
in India (CW, XIX: 567–8). One response to this is to stress the importance of
adult education, both formal and informal.
 John Stuart Mill  119
Collini, writing in the Introduction to the volume devoted in part to
e­ ducation in Mill’s Collected Works, argues that, ‘Mill’s conception of society is
an exceptionally and pervasively educative one … one could without strain
regard his whole notion of political activity itself as an extended and strenuous
adult-education course’ (CW, XXI: xlviii). Mill argues in typically Victorian
fashion that one role of parliament is to provide, through its moral leadership
and the quality of its debates, a significant contribution to the informal educa-
tion of the electorate. In Considerations on Representative Government Mill links
the respect in England for seeing two sides of an argument (limited though he
believes this often is) to the practice both of parliament and the law courts, but
thinks the Athenians were much better practised at it because of their greater
participation in the government and the courts (CW, XIX: 411). Listening to
the debates in parliament and serving on juries, particularly when combined
with an improved and enlarged formal education system, would, as mentioned
earlier, enable people to participate as active citizens not only through voting
but also through participation in activities such as local government and mem-
bership of political parties (CW, XIX: Chapters VI–VIII).
The nineteenth century witnessed a rapid growth in adult education, which
was often met with resistance from conservative forces in both education and
politics. In the 1820s there was considerable activity in this area, in part due to
the political debates which led to the Reform Act of 1832 (Ashton 2012: 59).
This included the establishment of the London Mechanics’ Institution (Ashton
2012: 58) and the establishment of University College London, which was
intended to offer open university education to middle class and professional
people and with which James Mill had been closely involved (Ashton 2012:
Chapter 1). As the century wore on The London Mechanics’ Institute
developed into Birkbeck Literary and Scientific Institution and eventually Birk-
beck College and, university extension departments were established, in Oxford
and Cambridge as well as in the new universities such as Manchester. A major
aim of these institutions was to broaden access to higher education and, as part
of this, to provide the intellectual space for older people to reflect upon and
discuss political issues as well as broader cultural matters.
For Mill, these two linked ideas of education as both an exercise in practical
civic participation and as lifelong, is fundamental to an understanding of educa-
tion in a liberal democracy.14

Conclusion
Mill represents a significant modern liberal response to the challenge posed
by Plato to an education based on principles of individual freedom and devel-
opment. Like Plato he accepts the importance of reason and, therefore, again
like him, he stresses the importance of education for those who are to rule
society. Unlike Plato he believes that ultimately the basis of power should
rest in the consent of the people as a whole rather than in the unchallengeable
wisdom of a few. In the case of earlier liberals such as Locke, the consent is,
by and large, tacit rather than explicit but in the historical development of
120  John Stuart Mill
the concept of ­ representative government the percentage of the adult
­population who are called upon to exercise influence through various means,
including elections, grew steadily. By the middle of the nineteenth century,
in Mill’s version of the theory, this encompasses a large proportion of the
adult population, women as well as men. With such an increase in the
number who were expected to play a responsible role in the political system
the need for a corresponding widening of education provision was recognised
as being imperative.
One of the reasons for the emphasis on the need to provide an appropriate
education for the mass of the people was to help meet a potential difficulty
with a system of representative government. What happens when the majority
vote in ways that might harm the well-being of society, or some part of it, or
indeed undermine the democratic system entirely? This is thrown into sharp
relief not only by populist arguments which equate the will of the people with
the votes of the majority but also by authoritarian systems which seek to vali-
date their policies through plebiscites. In grappling with this problem in the
Constitutional Convention at Philadelphia, James Madison sought to prevent
this from happening by an elaborate system of checks and balances. Mill, fol-
lowing ­Tocqueville, is much exercised by what he sees as the danger of the
tyranny of the majority in the American Republic and argues for a gradual
expansion of the franchise in order to allow time for the education system to
be embedded and to do its work (CW, XIX: 219–20). Both Mill and Madison
though, see education as a key factor in enabling people to make wise deci-
sions and so be well prepared to participate in the political process. This does
not mean that either of them treat education as a means of social control, in
the way in which authoritarian governments have often done in the twentieth
century, but that they think education would nurture and develop people’s
natural reason and help them to see the intrinsic values of acting in the inter-
ests of society a whole.
This of course raises the further question of what these values are, or indeed
whether they are intrinsic at all or perhaps simply reflect the values of the edu-
cated elite. One might go a step further and ask, as Rousseau does, whether
current societies are so corrupt that it is impossible for its institutions to reflect,
and its education system to nurture and develop, any sound values. The only
alternative might be to rethink these values and rebuild society from the ground
up. In which case, revolution, not reform, is the answer.
Mill, for all his later growing sympathy for socialism, is not in favour of
revolution. He does, however, argue that in times of social change and
upheaval (such as he is living through) new ideas are more likely to be given
proper attention and it is possible for the acceptance of those which are pro-
gressive to bring about significant improvements. He acknowledges that
regressive ideas may also be entertained and argues that it is very important
for these to be challenged before this ‘necessarily transitory’ period of flux
comes to an end and in the emerging period of stability new ideas and values
become embraced as the norms and education impresses this new creed upon
succeeding generations.
 John Stuart Mill  121
Notes
 1 A note on referencing. Most references to Mill are to the Collected Works and are
given in the format CW, volume number: page number. I have taken quotations
from Mill’s Autobiography and Considerations on Representative Government from
Mill 1873 and 1865 respectively and also indicated where they may be found in the
Collected Works.
  2 Much has been written and speculated about the relationship which Mill and Taylor
enjoyed before the death of her first husband and their subsequent marriage. Mill is
clear that she was both his closest friend and his intellectual equal and collaborator
(CW, I: 251–61). For Mill’s estimation of her influence on his thinking about
­democracy see (CW, I: 259).
  3 Particularly in his two reviews of Tocqueville’s Democracy in America (CW, XVIII:
47–90, 153–204).
  4 This is discussed further in Chapter 6 of this volume.
  5 For Mill’s views on proportional representation and more generally of the technical
issues involved in extension of the franchise see On Representative Government, CW,
XIX, Chapter VIII.
  6 Mill argues this at greatest length in On the Subjection of Women (CW, XXI).
  7 Mill argues that this notion of the development of communities is true both of the
working class of his own day and also of people of other cultures and other races.
It is particularly important to emphasise in this context that Mill was firmly
opposed to any suggestion that people of particular races were inherently inferior
to those of any other. This is evident in many places in Mill’s writings, two of
which are particularly striking. The first is in his highly critical view of Carlyle’s
overtly racist defence of slavery and the supposed inferiority of people of African
origin and Mill’s own rejection of racism in ‘On the Negro Question’ (CW, XXI:
85–96). The second, and related, is Mill’s denunciation of American slavery and
his passionate defence of the Union and complete opposition to the Confederacy
‘In the Contest in America’ (CW, XXI: 125–42) and ‘The Slave Power’
(CW, XXI: 143–64).
  8 John Davies argues in A History of Wales that the practice was not as widely followed
as is sometimes suggested and points out that it was never official government policy
(2006: 443). Yet even though there was no law forbidding the use of Welsh in
schools, the fact that was it not given any government support or recognition had a
significant impact on the subsequent history of the language.
  9 See also Eatwell and Godwin (2018) and Tamir (2019). All these writers emphasise
the importance of recognising positive aspects of nationalism as a way of confronting
the challenges which populism raises for liberal democratic societies, though they
differ over their particular responses. Some of these writers, notably Tamir, draw on
earlier writing on nationalism and liberalism by Isaiah Berlin (Berlin 1979; 1990a).
10 In this passage, Mill criticises the view ‘… that the rulers should be identified with
the people; that their interest and will should be the interest and will of the nation’.
Although he does not refer to Rousseau here the argument appears to be directed
against Rousseau’s theory of the general will. Mill’s position here is also the antithesis
of populist appeals to the will of the people.
11 He would have approved of the late nineteenth century American populist Farmer’s
Alliance who argued that rural farmers needed an appropriate form of adult educa-
tion to equip them to make use of scientific developments and to help them nego-
tiate with government agents and representatives of large corporations. Because
universities were reluctant to change their curricula to serve the interests of the
farming community, the Farmer’s Alliance established their own educational facili-
ties. This would serve as a good illustration of Mill’s argument that education should
not be controlled by government and that private organisations should be free to
provide education suited to those they teach because in doing so they act as a
restraint on government power. See Postel 2007: Chapter 2, ‘Knowledge and Power:
Machinery of Modern Education’.
122  John Stuart Mill
12 Stanley offers the education policy of the Orbán government, including its attack
on the CEU, as an example of what he refers to as a fascist education policy
(Stanley 2018: 50–1). Stanley’s use of the term ‘fascist’ is discussed in more detail in
Chapter 1 of this volume.
13 Mill’s education was entirely secular. ‘I am thus’, he writes in the Autobiography,

one of the very few examples, in this country, of one who has, not thrown off reli-
gious belief, but never had it. I grew up in a negative state with relation to it. I
looked upon the modern exactly as I did upon the Greek religion, as something
which in no way concerned me.
(Mill, 1873: 43; CW, I: 45)

14 Mill contributed to the encouragement of the wide dissemination of political ideas to

working-class men and women by agreeing for some of his books to be published in
‘People’s Editions’ at greatly reduced prices and with a subsequent loss of royalties
(Reeves 2007: 323).
6 Education in democratic
societies

The primary purpose of the central chapters has been to explore how some of
the key ideas in liberal democracy and populism have deep roots in Western
philosophy, and to consider the implications of these ideas for educational
thought and practice. Although during the course of the preceding discussion
I have criticised various arguments of all four philosophers, it has not been my
intention to defend either populist democracy or liberal democracy per se.
I have tried instead to take stock of the arguments as they have developed in the
works of Plato, Locke, Rousseau and Mill and by doing so lay bare some of the
underlying assumptions, both political and educational, that lie at least semi-
concealed beneath contemporary arguments. Doing this might, with sufficient
good will on both sides, and assuming a reasonable level of civility, help to
make discussion between adherents of the two views more productive and
lessen some of the tendency to talk past each other. This first part of this final
chapter uses the four themes outlined in the Introduction, and to which I have
referred throughout the intervening chapters, to draw out some important
differences and similarities between the different approaches. The second part
suggests some specific conclusions that are relevant to the place of education in
the current crisis of democracy.

Four themes
Education and a stable society
All societies require a measure of stability and consensus in order to function.
This is as true of liberal societies as those populists wish to bring about. Stability
and consensus are not more important than critical thinking or individual auto-
nomy in liberal thought, but they are a requirement for these to flourish. In
some societies, stability and consensus are enforced by fear or through the
imposition of religious or ideological beliefs, an imposition in which control of
the education system frequently plays a vital part. Liberal democratic societies
claim to be different in that the stability is based on a consensus which is both
voluntary and open to internal revision.
Plato argues that democratic societies are inherently unstable. Democracy, in
his view, creates citizens who are inevitably motivated by a confused and misin-
formed sense of self-interest, which renders impossible any form of consensus.
124  Education in democratic societies
For this reason, he argues that the best form of society, and the one which has
the greatest stability, is that in which the majority of people are educated to
have no interest in political affairs, and to put their trust in the wise few highly
educated men and women who alone are suited to govern because of a blend of
wisdom, virtue and skill in ruling.
Plato’s criticism is particularly important because it cuts directly across an
argument frequently made in contemporary democratic societies by political
theorists, politicians and journalists that stability is possible in democratic
society provided that (among other things) it is accompanied by a measure of
civility. On this view, Plato’s criticism of democracy is applicable not, as he
thought, to all possible democracies but only to those errant ones which lack
the means of peaceful and rational resolution of disagreement. If this is the case,
it casts a new light on the current discussion of civility in contemporary demo-
cratic societies and the perception of its increasing absence from public political
debate in countries such as the United States and the United Kingdom where
freedom of speech and tolerance of the views of others have traditionally been
regarded as given. Perhaps these democracies are showing signs of what Francis
Fukuyama, drawing on the work of Samuel Huntington, characterises as political
decay, a situation where political institutions are no longer capable of fulfilling
the functions they were designed for and political order becomes unstable
(Fukuyama 2014).
‘Civility’, Keith Thomas has written in his wide-ranging survey of the history
of the concept,

was (and is) a slippery and unstable word. Yet although it was employed in
the early modern period in a variety of senses, they all related in one way or
another to the existence of a well-ordered political community and the
appropriate qualities and conduct required of its citizens.
(Thomas 2018: 6)

It is out of such well-ordered societies that modern democratic government

grew.
This is certainly the case with Locke’s use of ‘civility’. It suggests a powerful
role for education in preserving social order and stability through transferring
the value and practice of civility, and the broader notion of social responsibility
of which it is a part, across generations. It also implies that a very important
purpose of education is to equip young people to navigate their way through
society as they mature and enter into the duties and obligations of citizenship.
One criticism of civility is that it is exclusionary: that advocates of civility
effectively discount those who do not accept the rules for polite discourse which
they have laid down. Keith Thomas refers to those who claim that ‘civility’ is
linked to ‘civilised’ and that the ‘civilised’ European societies which dominated
the world from the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries were able to ignore
the claims of those they conquered and ruled because, being ‘uncivilised’, they
could not enter into the kind of political debate which required ‘civility’
(Thomas 2018: 2). Theresa Bejan offers a specific criticism of Locke along
 Education in democratic societies  125
broadly similar lines, as was discussed in Chapter 3. Education is of great
importance here because if the critics are right, the teaching of civility which
ought, according to the liberal argument of Locke, to promote critical thinking
and toleration, is wrapped up in a programme which is exclusionary and so,
whether implicitly or explicitly, encourages intolerance. This would bring it into
direct conflict with the argument that a very important part of education in a
liberal society is to emphasise the importance of toleration and inclusivity.
Populists sometimes argue along similar lines when they claim that at least
some calls for civility are an attempt to defend the privileges of an elite who
wish to remain immune to criticism. Education, they argue, seeks to support
this attempted immunity in two ways. The first is by indoctrinating children
with ideas such as the need to maintain order and harmony in society through
respect for those in positions of authority. At times of social upheaval, such as
Western democracies are experiencing at present, these ideas have less power
over people (cabinet ministers in Britain or senior members of Congress in the
United States, for example, are no longer granted the respect they might think
is their due). But liberal education also has a more subtle agenda. It provides a
two-level education; a more sophisticated education for the children and young
adults of the elite (and those it wishes to co-opt) and a more basic education for
the remainder. What makes this particularly effective is that those receiving the
more sophisticated education acquire skills in reasoning and argument which
place them in a position to dominate the less articulate graduates of the lower
level education.
This criticism of education in liberal societies as being exclusive and elitist is
not new: it bears a strong resemblance to Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of educa-
tion as ‘reproductive’ (Bourdieu and Passeron 1990; Bourdieu 1998).
Bourdieu’s account is similar to that of populists in so far as it sees education as
having a primarily ideological function in society. By inculcating the dominant
values of the wealthy and powerful it reinforces and perpetuates their privileged
positions while for the rest, ‘persuading each social subject to stay in the place
which falls to him by nature, to know his place and hold to it … as Plato put it’
(Bourdieu and Passeron 1990: 210).1 Mill’s own highly unusual education at
the hands of his father and his subsequent career working with his father in the
East India Company, eventually rising to the highly lucrative post of Chief
Examiner (Reeves 2007: 256), might seem to fit this picture.
Populists argue that the lack of access to quality education deprives the
majority of people of the skills needed to rationally debate with the highly edu-
cated members of the elite; uncivil language which is aggressive or mocking
may be among the few tools available for disrupting the status quo. This is an
argument which we encountered in Rousseau and it is apparent in populist rhet-
oric such as the chants to imprison Hilary Clinton at Trump rallies during the
2016 presidential election and the daily abuse of political opponents on social
media.
Yet populists also require a form of civility for their arguments to be heard,
and for the democratic process to function and to allow them to take power – or,
as they might argue, to reclaim it. This suggests that, despite some appearances
126  Education in democratic societies
to the contrary in Rousseau’s thought and the rhetoric of some contemporary
populists, civility is very important but it can only function properly in a society
conscious of its national identity and values. (Populism appeals, after all, to a
pre-existing sense of national identity, even if it is largely based on nostalgia, as
in the case of much of the rhetoric over Brexit.) Cosmopolitanism, in this view,
dilutes the possible range of shared values by enlarging the number and variety
to the point where they cease to provide a coherent basis for a social consensus.
This is certainly Rousseau’s view, particularly in Poland where he argues that in
order for a national community to flourish, teaching ideas of civil responsibility
and a sense of commitment to the well-being of all through a well-ordered
(or, perhaps more aptly, ‘tightly controlled’) education system, is essential.
Rousseau would not approve of the CEU any more than he approves of the
Abbe St Pierre’s project for a union of European states.
Elements of this argument can be traced back to Plato. While he agrees that
people within the same community should be treated as deserving of respect
and dignity, his view of an ordered society excludes the need for the element of
toleration which is a key part of liberal ideas of civility. There is no need for
political civility because there is no scope in the ideal republic for political dis-
agreement. Civility amongst the philosopher rulers, who are by their very nature
virtuous people, is unnecessary. A due measure of politeness and respect
between members within classes, and between classes, is desirable, but that is a
product of the social harmony that comes from wise government, not a cause of
it. This is one reason why education is so important in the Republic. It prepares
people for membership in this harmonious society, by recognising their distinc-
tive abilities and providing them with the education best suited to develop those
abilities, both for themselves and for the good of the community. If this is so,
education may easily become a form of social control or, more charitably, social
guidance. The charitable interpretation requires not only a belief that the philo-
sopher rulers are most skilled at ruling but also that they are virtuous. This is
why the question of nationalism is so important to the debate between populists
and liberals, and why education is at the heart of the alternative visions they
have for society.

Nationality and national education

One response from within one strand of contemporary liberalism to the criti-
cism that civility is exclusionary is to argue for a form of cosmopolitan civility –
a sense of global inclusion and respect which transcends national boundaries.
The most successful practical, though limited, attempt to do this is the Euro-
pean Union, which has promoted transnational educational programmes as an
important part of its aims. It is not surprising that the European Commission
has been a staunch defender of the CEU in its dispute with the Hungarian
government.
In seeking to define contemporary populism in Chapter 1, I argued that
nationalism is one of its distinguishing features. Contemporary populists fre-
quently promote national identity as a means of ensuring stability and argue that
 Education in democratic societies  127
education should teach the importance of patriotism and encourage a­ cceptance of
one’s own community. In this they reflect Rousseau who, particularly in Poland,
emphasises the importance of belonging to a specific community and argues that
only patriotically-minded citizens should be allowed to teach in its schools. For-
eigners should not be allowed to teach Polish children because, not having been
educated themselves since childhood to think and feel like Poles, they cannot
­possibly nurture the necessary Polish ways of thinking and feeling in their pupils.
Those liberals who are especially critical of nationalism fear that it contains,
at the very least, the potential for intolerance, and quite likely the use of viol-
ence towards those who may be regarded as not being true members of the
national community. This is one of the elements that fuels the antagonism of
many liberals towards contemporary populism, not least because it often leads
to resistance to immigration, except in strictly controlled ways. Yet many the-
ories of nationalism in the nineteenth century were based on liberal values and
political movements based on aspirations for the creation of states based on
national communities were widely supported by prominent liberal thinkers and
politicians. Mazzini’s defence of liberal nationalism in works such as The Duties
of Man (Mazzini 1907) provided a powerful intellectual justification for Italian
unification and was much admired by liberals throughout Europe and North
America,2 including Mill.3
We can see the difference between populist and liberal views of nationalism
by referring to Rousseau and Mill. Both defend forms of national identity as the
basis of a stable society, but the kinds of society they envisage are very different,
a difference reflected very clearly in their contrasting views of education.
Rousseau argues that a society should protect its distinctive culture and
values, which are the expression of its identity. This is especially true for the
kind of society he envisages in The Social Contract and recommends in Poland,
because sharing in this culture and these values is essential if citizens are to
properly express the general will.
Because formal education is the most powerful force in shaping the thinking
and character of a society’s young people, its primary aim should be to nurture
this culture and these values. As such there are limits to what critical views and
values students should be exposed. He is sceptical of any kind of cosmopolitan-
ism, and wary of the influence of outsiders, who he fears will corrupt the purity
of the nation, which is a further reason why he argues that only citizens of the
nation should be allowed to teach in its schools.
The need to preserve the values of society and to protect its people from
malign foreign influences also permeates his account of informal education,
most notably in his Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre, where he objects to
the building of a theatre in Geneva. Such an action, he fears, will corrupt the
older members of society through being exposed to the decadent values of
foreign dramatists such as Moliere.
This argument is seen in current populist arguments on the need to restrict
migration. This is based on the contention that a large of influx of people from
other communities, particularly those that have a different culture, would
undermine the consensus, and the possibility of civil agreement that arises from
128  Education in democratic societies
it, which members of the host society currently share. This argument is
­powerfully expressed in a book I referred to in Chapter 1 as a rare defence of
what are currently regarded as populist themes by a major political theorist,
Samuel Huntington’s Who Are We: The Challenges to America’s National
­Identity. Huntington offers a more fundamental argument, though, in his
­best-known work The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order
(1996) and the article on which it is based ‘The Clash of Civilizations?’ (1993)
where he contends that members of different civilisations often have irreconcil-
able differences over their most fundamental beliefs and practices.

The people of different civilizations have different views on the relations

between God and man, the individual and the group, the citizen and the
state, parents and children, husband and wife, as well as differing views of
the relative importance of rights and responsibilities, liberty and authority,
equality and hierarchy These differences are the product of centuries. They
will not soon disappear.
(Huntington 1993: 25)

In such cases a unifying education system becomes impossible because there can
be no agreement on fundamental principles. This argument provides a clear
articulation of a set of opinions and values that underpin claims by the populist
governments of Hungary and Poland against accepting non-Christian migrants
from the Middle East and North Africa and the desire of populists in the United
States to build a wall against the threat of migrants from Mexico.4 With such
migrants, as with the cosmopolitan elites who champion them, civility is
impossible because the differences which make civilised discussion and inter-
action possible is absent.
Mill’s defence of nationality in Considerations on Representative Government,
coupled with his concerns about the dangers of an illiberal state-run education
system, offers a very different account of nationalism. In particular it recognises
the potential of the democratic nation as a focus of civic engagement and of the
liberal nation state as a safeguard of liberty and equality. But it also recognises
the dangers of the tyranny of the majority and the need for genuine, ongoing,
critical debate and argument as a safeguard against that. Most importantly for
our present purposes, it warns against the danger of an education system which
is controlled by the state, with all the potential for stifling the views of minor-
ities. It also, despite Mill’s respect for highly educated specialists with appro-
priate skills, raises concerns about the abuse of expertise which has something in
common with populist distrust of experts. We will return to Mill’s discussion of
nationalism in the last section of this chapter.

Expertise in education and politics

One difficulty with the argument about the need for stability in society is how
to ensure that rulers can be trusted to promote order. In the early modern
period in Europe one influential argument was that rulers could be trusted
 Education in democratic societies  129
because they ruled by divine right and were given special grace to rule wisely.
Locke’s attack on this view in Two Treatises of Government offers a powerful
rejection which deeply influenced Enlightenment thinkers like Voltaire and,
perhaps most importantly, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and other liberals
among the founders of the American Republic. But if the Divine Right of Kings
is rejected, as in Jefferson’s more radical development of Locke’s argument, and
all claims to religious authority must be excluded from government, what is the
basis for a belief that rulers are capable of ruling wisely? For liberals such as
­Jefferson and Madison, this is linked to the broader worry that no one can be
entirely trusted with the exercise of power. Unlike populist arguments about the
purity of the people, though, they are wary of giving too much power to
­governments and to their fellow citizens. Madison’s celebrated argument in
­‘Federalist 51’ draws out the dilemma very powerfully:

But what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human
nature? If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels
were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government
would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered
by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the
government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to
control itself.
(Madison, Hamilton and Jay 1987: 319–20)

Jefferson echoes the imagery of angels in his first inaugural address, in a passage
(delivered, it is worth stressing, on the day he ascended to the presidency of the
United States) which rejects the divine right of kings:

Sometimes it is said that man cannot be trusted with the government of

himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others? Or have
we found angels in the form of kings to govern him? Let history answer this
question.
(Jefferson 1801)

One response is in part to return to a modified version of Plato’s idea that

potential rulers have to be educated to a level at which they will know how to
act wisely and in the best interests of the people as a whole. Jefferson’s founding
of the University of Virginia was based in part on this ideal. This argument is
linked in the liberal democratic mind to a key idea in modern discussions of
education which is that of bringing out the best in the student – often expressed
in such terms as intellectually stretching the student to encourage their full
potential. This does not mean that every student is expected to become an
expert in what they study but there is the conviction that in seeking to achieve
that potential children should not be discouraged from acquiring depth of
knowledge and insight. To do this one needs to have a teacher who has a high
level of expertise in what he or she is teaching. This idea underpins traditional
ideas of the apprentice where a master would instruct and guide the student.
130  Education in democratic societies
The purpose of this, of course, was not to keep apprentices in perpetual
­subordination to a master but to prepare them to become autonomous masters
who would in turn themselves take on future apprentices.
An important element of the master-apprentice relationship and its function
as a means of enabling knowledge and skills to be passed from the more experi-
enced to the novice may also be seen in Mill’s argument for the educative value
in serving in local government, on school boards and the like. New members
learn from the more experienced how the system works and they also acquire
broader skills in the process, such as those of negotiation and leadership.  The
way in which the successful outcome of the master-apprentice relationship leads
to the apprentice becoming independent of the master also reflects the
important emphasis in Locke and Mill of education being intended to allow the
mature individual to be autonomous.
Contemporary populists are often highly critical of claims to expertise
because of their argument that the claims of the elite to possess expertise in the
form of unquestionable knowledge and insight are a means of demanding
unquestioning obedience on the part of the people at large.5 But populists are
not opposed to all specialist knowledge, only knowledge which is restricted to a
small elite. They argue that such restrictions undermine the principle that the
will of the people, however that is variously defined, should take precedence
over the inevitably partial opinions of a small elite whose understanding and
application of their specialised knowledge is infected by their distance from the
people as a whole.
This distance is due in large part to the education of the elites. Populists
argue that education should reflect the values of society, but elites are often per-
ceived as being educated in values that are transnational or global. This is so
even when their education has been in their own country as elite educational
institutions, particularly the most prestigious Western universities, are held to
reflect the values of global liberalism rather than those of the society in which
they are based.6 It is also reflected, some argue, in elite support for multi-culturalist
education which undermines attempts to integrate newcomers into the host
society. Agreeing with this analysis, Huntington argues that in the past it was
seen as the responsibility both of public education and private corporations to
ensure that migrants were integrated and that large industrial corporations
‘established schools at their factories to train immigrants in the English lan-
guage and American culture’ (Huntington 2004: 132). By contrast, he argues,
multiculturalism in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s was greatly aided by educa-
tional practices in the United States, sponsored by academics and politicians
committed to cosmopolitan liberalism (Huntington 2004: 171–7).
This belief in the importance of the rulers sharing the values of society as a
whole is central to Plato’s vision of education in the Republic.7 Plato argues that
the purpose of education is to discover children’s abilities and then to educate
them accordingly. This has often been taken as an elitist position – a claim that
most people should only be educated to a low level so that they will be content
with a life of work which requires only manual or technical skills. But, as was
argued in Chapter 2, this is to misread the argument of the Republic. One
 Education in democratic societies  131
purpose of Plato’s system of education is to ensure that everyone leads a life that
is best suited to their skills and abilities and is employed in a form of work
which will best satisfy them. Moreover, the life of the soldiers and the philo-
sopher rulers is a frugal one, living in barracks with no personal wealth and no
family life, whereas the artisans have a life based around family and a modest
amount of private property.
The learning and practise of skills is central to Plato’s understanding of
society and he argues that ruling is a skill which can be learnt like any other.
Indeed, a society can only be governed well, and justly, if its rulers have the
skills needed for the task and have been educated to the point where they can
use those skills wisely. This is at the heart of Plato’s rejection of democracy and
particularly of populist ideas of democracy as reliant on the will of the people as
a whole. Asking the general population to decide on complex economic and
geopolitical issues as was the case with the British referendum on membership
of the European Union would be regarded by Plato as the height of folly.
This view of education is challenged directly by John Locke’s argument that
education should be general to enable a gentleman to take his place in society,
not to make experts. Locke restricts this broad education to a relatively few
members of society though, as was argued in Chapter 3, his view of education
does not rule out it being extended much more widely. John Stuart Mill
expands this generalist, Lockean, view of education to include many more
people but Mill, like Locke, still maintains a role for the teaching and training
of experts. Both emphasise the need to ensure that expertise does not isolate
experts from the interests and needs of the community at large.

Education, politics and critical thinking

Benignly intentioned anti-democrats like Plato offer stability through order and
view education as a means of reproducing the values and beliefs which sustain
that order. For them, belief in the value of experts goes hand in hand with a
belief in the importance of reason as the only reliable guide to right thinking
and acting. Those who are experts have a right, even a duty, to guide the rest of
us. That is at the heart of Plato’s argument for the philosopher rulers in the
Republic, and it is an idea which has resonated with many intellectuals and
leaders, of various kinds, ever since.
Liberals oppose this view but the populist argument that liberals do the same
things, merely more obliquely, is a powerful one. One problem with views such as
Locke’s on the importance of teaching civility as a means of preserving stability
and providing an entrée for young citizens into society is that it can appear to
undermine the ability to think critically and stifle their autonomy. A liberal philo-
sophy of education must find a way of resolving what can appear to be a threat to
its coherence. One liberal response, following Locke, is to argue that if critical
thinking is part of the culture to which people are being introduced, it will play a
significant part in education and so deter any attempts at indoctrination.
This helps make clear a tension between two aspects of the defence of
rational thought; that which acknowledges the importance of expertise and that
132  Education in democratic societies
which values critical thinking. They are not necessarily in conflict; indeed they
ought not be, but they often are. Immanuel Kant sums the problem up in a
famous passage in ‘An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?’:

It is because of laziness and cowardice that so great a part of humankind,

after nature has long since emancipated them from other people’s direction
… nevertheless gladly remains minors for life…. If I have a book that
understands for me, a spiritual advisor who has a conscience for me, a
doctor who decides upon a regimen for me, and so forth, I need not
trouble myself at all.
(Kant: 1991: 54)

Kant’s choice of experts here mirrors the anger of many populists. Those who
claim to have knowledge treat us like children, telling us what to think, even
what to eat and drink to live a healthy life. All choice is denied us: we are
treated, as Kant says a little further on in the same paragraph, as if were
‘domesticated animals dumb and … placid’.
How is this immaturity to be overcome? It is, says Kant, by learning to think
for oneself, to be a free, autonomous person. Moreover, that is something more
easily done as part of a community than as an isolated individual (Kant 1991:
55). There are echoes here of Rousseau, whom Kant greatly admired. Where
Kant appears to differ from Rousseau is in his view that individuals are not to be
treated merely as members of a community, a means to the end of the general
will, for example, but as ends in themselves.
On one level it is not true to say that Rousseau did not think that individuals
should be treated merely as means to the ends of the greater good of the com-
munity. Because, in Rousseau’s view, the good of the individual and the good
of the community as expressed in the general will are the same; the community
cannot ignore the interest of the individual and treat him or her as merely a
means of achieving the greater good. A problem arises, though, because Rous-
seau claims that individuals will on at least some occasions be confused about
what is in their true interests and have to be forced to act in accordance with
the general will – to be forced to be free, in the famous phrase. But coercing
people to act in their own true best interest is not to treat them as means to an
end but ends in themselves – the community is enabling them to act in their
own true best interests. It is very important not to lose sight of respect for the
integrity of the individual in Rousseau’s thought.
This has important implications for education because while the students are
guided by the teacher they are being led towards a clearer understanding of
what is good not only for the community but also for themselves as members of
the community. The echoes of the education system of the Republic are clear
here. In both cases the intention is a laudable one, to draw out the best in the
individual and to help him or her lead a fulfilling life.
This is not to deny that there are practical issues in trying to ensure that indi-
viduals are not coerced against their true interest. Part of the difficulty here lies
in treating the general will as if it were a metaphysical entity distinct from the
 Education in democratic societies  133
individuals who make up the community. Another problem, not unconnected,
is the way in which Rousseau’s arguments have been interpreted (or twisted) by
avowed followers such as Robespierre (Kloppenberg 2016a: 533, 541). But
perhaps the problem is intractable; once one believes that there is a guiding
power that has revealed the right way to live, those who endanger themselves
and the community by ignoring it must be corrected. It is only a step away from
that to conclude that it is better to arrange the education of the people that
they are prevented from considering such heretical questions in the first place, a
view which Plato explicitly advocates in the Republic. It is apparent also in
Rousseau’s argument in The Social Contract that the Lawgiver has to convince
the people for whom he has prepared the laws that he is acting as a transmitter
of divine wisdom and in his view of the necessity for government control over
what is to be taught in Polish schools.
Populist politicians frequently berate liberal politicians for their failure to be
transparent, arguing that their belief in the importance of liberal ideals, and the
policies which flow from them, causes them to ignore the views of those who
are less enlightened. Such claims, made frequently during the Brexit campaign
in Britain and during Donald Trump’s election campaign in the United States,
often link this with the charge that elite politicians from privileged back-
grounds, who have been educated at exclusive institutions, consider the general
mass of the less well educated to be too ignorant to make suitably informed
decisions. Yet there is also a potential problem here for populism.
Rousseau’s Lawgiver, it was argued in Chapter 4, fits rather awkwardly into
the structure of the argument of The Social Contract but more easily into that of
Poland. The problem in The Social Contract is that although the general will is
held to be the only legitimate source of law in a community, the people who
leave the state of nature to create that community need an external Lawgiver to
tell them what their laws should be. In Poland the situation is different because
the Polish people are already living in a settled community but one which needs
to be reformed because of the corruption within it. In the latter situation, the
Lawgiver is needed because of the way people have been misled by their former
rulers, not least through the education system, and are still too confused to ade-
quately express the general will. The role of the Lawgiver in Poland is to
provide a re-education so that the people will eventually be able to properly
express the general will. But this will inevitably involve people being asked to
take some things on trust – such as an interpretation of Polish history that
reinforces the values which the Lawgiver is providing for the new society.8
There is clearly a danger of censorship here in that any alternative narrative
will be castigated as unacceptable and banned from the education system, both
the formal education that will take place under the auspices of the teachers who
must themselves be loyal Poles, and the informal education that takes place in
the media. Attempts by populists such as Donald Trump and some of the
leaders of the Brexit campaign to delegitimise mainstream media as promoters
of fake news is a dangerously illiberal ploy that is one of the most serious threats
to the democratic culture of both these societies. Further down the line of illiberal
threats to democracy is the simultaneous decision of the Orbán government to
134  Education in democratic societies
allocate considerable resources to state-run primary schools while undermining
the position of the CEU in Hungary.
An adequate theory of the role of education in a liberal democratic society
must recognise that democracy is by its nature invariably subject to change – or to
put in more positive terms, that it can adapt to new circumstances and challenges.
It must also recognise that democracy has no single essence and that there will
inevitably be tensions between different groups and values in a democratic society.
Part of the purpose of education is to help provide an understanding of the
ground rules for discussion of these various alternatives while acknowledging that
the ground rules will change over time and stressing the need to adapt to them.
This need to adapt shows that while education may have a crucial role to play in a
democratic society it does not occupy a uniquely privileged position which is in
some manner ‘outside’ of or above that society as a whole.
This brings us back to conflicting views of the Socratic Method and of its
significance for the importance of critical thinking in education.
A liberal view of the Socratic Method would lay emphasis on the idea that
Socrates was concerned to challenge the views of the experts of his day not
because he thought there was no truth in what they said but rather in order to
make the truth clearer and fuller. The proper use of the Socratic Method, on
this view, is not to cynically debunk the views of those who claim to have expert
knowledge but to enter into dialogue in order to learn and to further the truth.
Of course, as Socrates often found, subjecting other people’s opinions to sus-
tained criticism can often lead to acrimony and it is sometimes difficult to
concede a point in the heat of the debate. Mill, who strongly approved of the
Socratic Method and its encouragement of robust debate, argued that it would
often be the case that those looking on or listening might learn more than the
direct participants. Following the cut and thrust of the debate in a more
detached manner, and being able to reflect at their leisure upon what they had
heard, would enable the onlookers to take a more dispassionate view of the
strengths and weaknesses of the various arguments (CW, XVIII: 251–2).
This last point leads to a further consideration. Encouraging people to think
critically means that they should be more willing to question their own beliefs
as well as those of others. Socrates was not advocating, as Rousseau did on
some occasions, the subordination of reason to feelings or emotions, but a more
acute use of reason to question one’s own views as well as those of others. In
Plato’s Apology (20e-22e) Plato reports Socrates as claiming at his trial that his
constant questioning of the opinions of others was motivated by a pronounce-
ment of the Oracle at Delphi who, when asked who the wisest man in the world
was, replied that it was Socrates. Socrates claimed to have been baffled by this
and went about initially trying to find people who through their greater know-
ledge and deeper understanding were wiser than he was. His conclusion was
that he was wiser than any of the people he had spoken to only in the sense that
he was aware of the state of his own ignorance.
It is this modesty about what one can claim to know that Mill is particularly
attracted to in the Socratic Method and it is reflected in a key part of a liberal
theory of education. This is, to make one aware that one’s own knowledge is
 Education in democratic societies  135
bounded by many types of ignorance and lack of skills, and, through recognizing
one’s own limitations, to be sympathetic and tolerant of the limitations of one’s
fellow citizens. In place of the certainties of Plato and Rousseau, Locke emphas-
ises the provisional nature of all claims to knowledge and Mill stresses the
fundamental role of debate in allowing alternative and competing claims to be
heard and assessed.
By contrast, at the heart of contemporary populist ideas of education, and of
those of Rousseau, is the aim of drawing out the truth that is implicit in all
those who are truly members of the renewed and purified society. The Socratic
Method then becomes a means of undermining claims to expertise and skill by
the current elite. Doing so prepares the way for dismantling the corrupt social
and political order and replacing it with something superior. For Rousseau, this
willingness to be honest to the truth which Emile finds within himself is the
means by which he can retain his purity within a corrupt society. But it is only
when a whole society is transformed, and, in the strongest sense of the term,
­re-educated, that people can truly be free to understand and express the truth
within. This echoes Plato’s rejection of the corruption of his own society and
his belief that only through being guided by rulers with a complete under-
standing of the Forms can society be remade, and its members be enabled to
lead just and fulfilling lives. For both Rousseau and Plato, the most important
idea is that only those who are guided by a knowledge of the truth can be good
people. It is not surprising, then, that those who do not understand the truth
have to be re-educated (again), exiled from the community or, in the case of
those who wilfully and persistently reject the minimal state religion envisaged in
The Social Contract, executed.

Autonomy in education and politics

The implication of the argument of the last paragraph is that populists have to
set boundaries outside of which critical thinking is unacceptable. This is in sharp
contrast to liberals like Mill who believe that one of the benefits of teaching
critical thinking is that it breaks down boundaries and in doing so promotes
autonomy. Autonomy has been particularly associated with liberalism, and
understandably so as liberal political theorists, including Locke and Mill, have
developed versions of the concept into a central theme in liberal thought. Yet
liberals do not have exclusive claims on the concept. If we define autonomy as
‘self-rule’ or ‘self-direction’, populists may also be understood as advocating a
certain kind of autonomy. Indeed, much of their political discourse is couched
in terms of the need to free people from various types of oppressive rule,
whether from the tyranny of expert guidance, from the rule of unresponsive
internal elites such as politicians and bankers or by external powers such as the
European Union and the United Nations and international agreements such as
the Paris Climate Treaty. In view of this the role of education in promoting
autonomy is, of great importance but also problematic.
This can be seen in the different views of Locke and Rousseau. For Locke,
autonomy is an essential aim in the education of the individual both as a person
136  Education in democratic societies
and as a citizen. Rousseau, particularly in Poland, gives greater weight to the
view that the primary aim of education is not the autonomy of the individual
but of the community.
Rousseau is often written about, quite rightly, as an advocate of authenticity
and it is sometimes argued that this explains his different account of autonomy.
Arguments of this kind are also used to suggest that populists have a greater
commitment to authenticity than to autonomy, particularly where autonomy is
understood in the liberal sense of individual freedom (or as populists like Orbán
argue, licence). In part this argument turns on the role of reason in autonomy,
which liberals such as Locke and Mill argue is central and which, on some inter-
pretations, Rousseau thinks is less important. But it would be wrong to draw
too sharp a division between autonomy and authenticity. Claims to the primacy
of authenticity arising from natural feelings such as patriotism may provide a
rationale for asserting national autonomy for a populist, but liberal versions of
identity politics, which appeal to notions of personal autonomy, with regard to
choosing sexual preferences, for example, are also frequently based on powerful
appeals to peoples’ emotional sense of who they are. What is significant is the
manner in which different views of autonomy, one based fundamentally on
communal identity and the authenticity of the society to which a person
belongs, the other on individual identity and the right to create one’s own iden-
tity, both appeal to authenticity but lead to different views of autonomy. In
doing so they also imply very different views of the aims and purposes of educa-
tion and some of the tension in Rousseau’s thought arises because he is drawn
to both views.
Locke’s argument against patriarchalism in the Two Treatises is relevant to his
discussion on education at this point. As Kelly (2007) argues, Locke did not
believe that children had a natural right to be treated as the equal of adults and
they were legitimately under the authority of their fathers (though it is also
important to add that Locke places duties on parents regarding the way they
should treat their children). As they grow older their education should equip
them to be responsible adults and so become equal members of society, along-
side their parents. Kelly points out that Locke distinguishes between parental
authority which is patriarchal and political authority which is not. The authority
of parents over their children is of a different nature to political authority
(Kelly 2007: 81–90).
While this is true, and Locke has good philosophical reasons for differentiat-
ing between the authority of the father and that of the sovereign, one important
feature of this distinction is that education in a liberal society is understood as a
process of enabling children to grow into citizens who will be independent and
critically minded. The authority of the father should be gradually replaced,
Locke argues in Some Thoughts, by increasing friendship and eventual treatment
of the son (and daughter?) as an equal. Politically that has significant implica-
tions because the king in a patriarchal society can never allow his subjects to
become mature and so be considered his equals; they must always remain
­subservient to their royal father. An education which prepares one to be an
independent adult and a responsible citizen is central to liberal thought because
 Education in democratic societies  137
it emphasises the autonomy of the individual growing up, so to speak, to recognise,
in Mill’s later phrase, that ‘[o]ver himself, over his own body and mind, the
individual is sovereign’ (CW, XVIII: 224). Moreover, in order to do this suc-
cessfully it must provide the educated citizens with powerful intellectual and
moral tools to challenge the authority of the sovereign. The consent given to
the on-going social contract by free and equal adults in a liberal society is always
conditional on the sovereign abiding by his side of the contract. The workability
of the liberal contract assumes the ability of the governed to understand and
challenge the actions of the sovereign. This is fundamentally and irrevocably a
two-way process for a liberal society.
This throws Locke’s position into direct contrast with Rousseau, for whom
the citizen and the sovereign should, ideally, be identical, one of the key differ-
ences that distinguishes liberal democracy from populist democracy. Rousseau’s
view of education in Poland, as well as in The Social Contract, assumes that the
education is not intended to create autonomous, critically minded individuals
who will constantly call the sovereign to account but people who are at one
with the sovereign because they are part of the it.
This is not to suggest that the power of the sovereign for Rousseau is patriar-
chal. Quite the opposite is the case. The opening section of Political Economy is
a sustained attack on the attempt to equate the sovereign with the father in
which Rousseau refers to ‘the odious system’ of Robert Filmer’s Patriacha
(Rousseau 2019b: 6). The sovereign does not stand against the individual as
any kind of other, fatherly or otherwise. But that is also why, ultimately, the
sovereign cannot be challenged. Locke’s insistence on the right of rebellion
would not make sense in Rousseau’s ideal society – how can one rebel against
oneself? Populist appeals to the will of the people being more fundamental and
insightful (because it is somehow purer, less corrupt) than politicians or judges
clearly has affinities with this.
As Riley argues (2001: 132) when Rousseau writes about being forced to be
free he means that that the education system will have brought the individual to
realise that he can only become fully free when he is at one with the general
will.9 On such a view the education system seeks to internalise values which
cannot then be challenged, because there are no independent grounds upon
which the challenge can be made. This is in considerable part because Rousseau
rejects the idea, which is central to Locke’s liberalism, of a universal, cosmopol-
itan natural law. It also means that Rousseau believes, like Plato, that once
created the just society cannot be improved in its essence, though for Rousseau,
as for Plato, it can deteriorate. For Locke this idea is fundamentally wrong –
there can be no ideal society because our understanding of politics, just as much
as of the natural world, is always subject to development and improvement as
our knowledge increases. This is why education for Locke should include
enough science and history, among other subjects, to provide the educated
adult with an awareness of the provisional nature of knowledge.
There are two important points to make about this. The first is that even if
liberal democratic societies function in this way it does not mean that all social
and economic inequalities, or even serious injustices, will disappear. But second,
138  Education in democratic societies
it does mean that liberal and civic-minded members of such a society will recognise
many of the injustices and seek to remedy them. Locke did this through his
writing and through his political activism as a member of the opposition to
James II and his defence of the Revolution of 1689 (Woolhouse 2009:
­Chapters 6 and 7). Mill also campaigned for greater justice through his writing
and by his political activism, including as a Liberal Member of Parliament
(Reeves 2007: Chapter 13).
Plato and Rousseau, by contrast, see education as an important aspect of the
need to purify society and remake it to reflect the needs of all members, not just
the few. In this respect they are, as Rousseau acknowledges both about himself
and Plato, radical innovators. Their views of education may be termed, follow-
ing Mezirow ‘transformative’ (Mezirow 1991, 2000).
Plato and Rousseau reject the idea that there are any values in the societies in
which they lived that could be accepted and defended without question. Instead
they claim that a radical purification, of both society and the individual heart, is
necessary. Contemporary education cannot help – it will only perpetuate the
corruption into the next generation. The Socratic Method, as we have already
seen, becomes in such a view a means of attacking the very foundations of
society with a view to undermining it in preparation for the transformation to a
qualitatively different society. From this perspective, representative government
is far less attractive, particularly when the representatives are drawn from what is
regarded as an elite whose values and opinions and interests are removed from
those who have elected them. Liberal constraints such as the rule of law and
written constitutions are often dismissed as defending the interests of the elite.
It is important to emphasise the point that for Rousseau, education is trans-
formative – it liberates Emile both from his own childish ignorance and from
the dangers of becoming corrupted by society. In the term that Rousseau uses
to describe Plato’s Republic, it purifies. For Locke, by contrast, education is not
about transformation, either of the individual or society. It is about enabling
the child to grow into both a good citizen and a good person. This can be best
achieved by drawing out the critical and rational faculties of the individual but
in the context of enabling the person to become virtuous. For Locke there is no
need for the child to be transformed because, unlike Plato and Rousseau, Locke
believes that for all its weaknesses and failings, English society in the late seven-
teenth century is reformable and that one means of that reform is a sound
education which emphasises and builds upon the positive aspects of society.
Plato and Rousseau believe that in an ideal society people would indeed be
educated in the values of society. But the difference for them is that in the ideal
society there would be very little room for dissent. Citizens would have to
submit to the greater wisdom of the philosopher rulers or the general will. What
appears to be the liberal, child-centred education of Emile turns into the illib-
eral forcing to be free. What appears to be the illiberal, virtue imbuing character
building of Some Thoughts is tempered and transmuted by the liberal individual-
ism of Two Treatises and the critical, scientific temper of the Essay.
In Rousseau’s view, when a truly just society is established following a
revolutionary transformation (or purification) of both society and the individual
 Education in democratic societies  139
heart, there would be no need for further fundamental change or improvement.
All that would be left would be the need to ensure that the general will was suf-
ficiently well understood and its wishes carried out. In such a society education
would become entirely reproductive because any deviation from the funda-
mental values would be potentially dangerous to the stability and security of
society. The education system would play its part in ensuring that people learnt
what it is to be truly free with the aim of minimising the occasions when they
would have to be forced to be free as citizens.
The authoritarian threats attendant on such a view are perhaps even clearer
to people in the twenty-first century than they would have been to Rousseau.
By contrast, the liberal democratic view espoused by Mill argues that there is no
single, ultimate concept of democracy, or liberty, against which the various
manifestations of theory and practice can be measured. It also explains how it
has developed over a long period, from the undemocratic liberalism of Locke
through the development of a strong version of representative liberal democracy
in the later Enlightenment to a more fully developed, but still far from com-
plete, version in Mill. In that respect Plato’s view of democracy as a reaction to,
or even a protest against, other types of government, has an element of truth in
it. Plato was also right, from his own perspective, to be wary of democracy
because by its very nature it involves change and adaptation rather than seeking
perfection: the very antithesis of his account of politics in the Republic. In that
sense too, it is opposed to ideologies which claim to have found the truth about
political order, whether secular such as fascism and communism or religious
such as the theory of the Divine Right of Kings or contemporary Islamism. To
many of its defenders, that is one of the great strengths of liberal democracy and
a reason why, despite some recent setbacks, it remains such a powerful force in
the modern world.
Part of the tension between liberal and populist accounts of democracy is
that between individual autonomy and responsibility as members of a com-
munity, but the tension is also particularly evident within the writings of both
Mill and Rousseau. Mill’s emphasis on individual freedom, particularly in On
Liberty, has to be put beside his comments on the generally positive aspects of
nationalism in Considerations on Representative Government and his broader
defence, in the latter work in particular, of the importance of decision making
by specialists working for the greater good of society. Rousseau’s comments on
the general will and his emphasis on the importance of communal moral
renewal as a necessary precondition of a more just society have to be balanced
by the greater stress on individual development in Emile or the keen sense of his
own individualism (and loneliness) which are to be found in his Confessions
(1995) and Reveries of a Solitary Walker (2011).
This tension is also reflected in the education systems of mature liberal
democracies and may explain why people in such societies grow up with an
awareness, and usually acceptance, of the differences among members of a
democratic society. It may also help to explain why democracy is hard to
­introduce and sustain in societies where education is more rigorously ideological
or religious, such as the old Soviet Union or in some conservative religious
140  Education in democratic societies
s­ ocieties.10 The growth of populism might seem to reflect a wish to suppress
one aspect of the tension, or it may reflect a confused attempt to keep them in
an unstable balance: if either is the case that would suggest a failure of education,
as well as failures elsewhere in society.

Education and the crisis of democracy

We have it not in our power to choose between democracy and aristocracy;
necessity and Providence have decided that for us. But the choice we are
still called upon to make is between a well and an ill-regulated democracy;
and on that depends the future well-being of the human race.
(Mill CW, XVIII: 56)

It is difficult to imagine any serious disagreement with the initial part of Mill’s
claim here, written in 1835, during the course of his first review of Alexis de
Tocqueville’s Democracy in America, that aristocracy is no longer a serious
alternative to democracy. Unfortunately, as the current debate between liberal
democrats and populists demonstrates, it is equally difficult to disagree with the
second part about the serious conflict between rival accounts of democracy.
This may suggest a gloomy view of the viability of democracy. If we are still
facing a crisis between a well- and an ill-regulated democracy almost two centu-
ries after these words were written, what reasons could there be for optimism
about resolving democracy’s current crisis and about its long-term future? How
can we even decide which is the ill-regulated democracy – liberal democracy or
populism, or even both? But a longer view may also help to dispel the gloom,
or at least offer some clarity.
Democracy’s current crisis is part of a wider problem in Western society,
caused in part by globalisation – the phenomenon which has contributed so
much to what populists regard as the malaise of cosmopolitanism. One of popu-
lists’ most frequent criticisms is that the elites in this society, particularly politi-
cians and financiers, have more in common with their international colleagues
in a global elite than with the great majority of people in their own society.
Taking a position of which Rousseau would wholly approve, they argue that the
existence of such people should be dealt with by suitably robust action, chief
among which involves ensuring the next generation is educated in institutions
which reflect national values and priorities. But the particular features of our
crisis should not blind us to the fact that comparable crises have occurred in the
past and have, in some cases, been followed by the emergence of new and more
stable institutions and ways of life. Each of the four thinkers we have discussed
in the previous chapters lived through periods of intense change and social
upheaval.
Plato writes against the background of what he sees as the corruption and
decay of Athenian society and the part which he thinks democracy has played in
this. Locke living during the period of the Restoration and the Revolution of
1688, sees, more than any of the other three, the ideas which he champions
becoming accepted and established as the new, more liberal, norm. Rousseau,
 Education in democratic societies  141
both visionary and pessimist, is acutely aware of the radical changes taking place
in the political and cultural life of eighteenth century Europe, but his own
ambiguity about how best to deal with them perhaps explains why the kind of
just and fair society he argues for so eloquently, has not been realised. Mill, like
Locke, is optimistic, though without the assurance that came to Locke in later
life, after the accession of William and Mary.
Mill speaks in a manner directly relevant to the present crisis when he argues
that in times of social change and upheaval, such as he is living through in
Victorian England, there is much greater opportunity for new ideas to be
­
­seriously considered. When such ideas are subjected to proper critical analysis it
is possible that, through the acceptance of those which are progressive, signi-
ficant improvements can be brought about. Mill believes that education has an
essential role to play in this, arguing, like Locke, that it should equip people
with the critical skills and a wide-ranging knowledge to be able to make sense of
the changes and evaluate possible outcomes. This is an important way in which
a liberal philosophy of education both acknowledges the need to preserve some
values whilst also recognising the importance of preparing the way for change
and improvement.
Mill’s optimism is tempered, though, by his warning that change may be for
the worse rather than the better and his warning against the ‘obnoxious power’
which a misuse of education could wield over successive generations is a salutary
one. One might assume that he thinks this applies only to alleged misuses of
education by the illiberal governments of his own day or by contemporary
populist governments such as that of Hungary. But Mill’s argument is more
nuanced than that. It is equally possible that ideas of liberalism and liberal
democracy might become oppressive if taught uncritically. Mill, borrowing
from Tocqueville, warns that a majority composed of liberals may become
tyrannical. Mill’s concern is that any set of values, even the most liberal, is in
danger of becoming a means of social control if not subjected to persistent criti-
cisms and development. This is not necessarily because people consciously set
out to be oppressive: it may result from the best of intentions. But unless ideas
are subject to frequent analysis and critical reflection the danger is there.
Indeed, the danger is a constant one, which is why one of the most important
roles of education is to provide the tools for critical analysis to enable active,
educated citizens to meet it head on.
Mill’s argument that times of social change might also be times of great
opportunity for progressive-minded thinkers and politicians is echoed by some
writers today who caution against a defeatist, even apocalyptic, view of the
current crisis of democracy. One of the most perceptive of these, Walter Russell
Mead,11 draws a comparison between the current situation and that of the
period between Reconstruction and the emergence of the Progressive
­Movement in late nineteenth century America (2018).12 Then, as now, average
Americans were disillusioned with the remoteness of members of the elite, a
remoteness exacerbated by great inequalities in wealth. There was also a general
sense of chaos and confusion, and of the fear of violence, along with the percep-
tion that politicians were generally inept and unable to exercise any significant
142  Education in democratic societies
control over events. Yet out of this period came the Progressive Movement
which, led by powerful, competent politicians radically improved society.
Two of Mead’s arguments are of particular relevance to our present concerns.
The first is that, like Mill (whom he does not mention), Mead maintains that we
cannot at present know what new ideas and institutions will emerge to enable
us to adjust to the great changes currently taking place (2018: 17). This can
be a source of optimism but, as Mill makes clear, the ability on the part of a
society to meet such challenges requires the provision of an education which is
flexible and creative and which values critical analysis.
This leads to Mead’s second argument, that the education system which was
developed for the age of industrialisation is no longer appropriate for the new
post-industrial information society. Mead’s description of the older education
echoes some of the analysis of populists when he writes that ‘it provided basic
literacy for the whole work force, offered more advanced schooling to a per-
centage of it, and socialized children into the unique working environment of
the industrial age…’. But his main point is that ‘today’s educational system
socializes young people into a world that no longer exists’ (Mead 2018: 18).
Mead’s argument about the relevance of contemporary education in the
United States and other Western societies to future patterns of employment is
timely. Education needs to adapt to the challenges such as those of new tech-
nology and the major disruption that they will bring to the way people work,
and to more adequately prepare students for the new kinds of employment
that will be available. But it is also important to point out that the education
system which is being superseded is one which Mill defended – and in part
helped to bring about through his writing and his work as a Member of Par-
liament – as a means of providing people with the requisite levels of literacy
and numeracy to be able to participate meaningfully in political debate and to
make informed choices when voting. While Mead is right to emphasise the
need to rethink and redevelop current education provision it is also important
that a strong humanistic element is retained in order to provide the know-
ledge and understanding which can be drawn upon to engage as an active
citizen.13
The current wave of populism is the expression of a far more pessimistic
response to the unsettling effects of rapid social change than that embraced by
Mill. Its emphasis on the importance of national identity and of the need for an
education system which unequivocally defines, and then defends, that identity is
one response to this. Paradoxically, though, the speed at which Western soci-
eties are currently undergoing change undermines populist arguments for pre-
serving national culture and preventing external influences from influencing it.
However much people in the old industrial heartlands of England and the
American mid-west or the old coal mining communities of South Wales or West
Virginia lament the passing of industries and the way of life that went with them
they are gone and cannot be recreated. That is why an education based primarily
on the conservation of traditional national values is bound to be inadequate in
the current time of crisis and rapid change, just as would be an education based
on the needs of an industrial society that no longer exists.
 Education in democratic societies  143
This is not to say that an education which disparages national identity and
gives greater importance to cosmopolitanism has no problems of its own. The
emphasis on national identity and a sense of belonging is still important. This is
why education which includes serious and non-pejorative discussion of national-
ity, to use Mill’s term, should provide an understanding of the historical context
within which the national community has developed (including where necessary
debunking myths about the past) and also as a basis from which to interpret and
where possible (and desirable) help to control and direct the change.
It is entirely understandable how the inclusion of such a discussion of nation-
ality is important in the education system of a country like Hungary which has
experienced so much trauma over such a long period of time. But it is not
enough to rely on government sponsored guidance. Internal critics, such as Mill
in Victorian Britain or Locke in Restoration England, or indeed Rousseau in
eighteenth century France, are necessary. So too are more detached institutions
such as the CEU who can offer the tools for a more dispassionate analysis. From
that perspective, the move of the CEU from Budapest is a greater loss for
Hungary, and especially the stated desire of the Hungarian government to meet
the challenges of a globalising world, than it is for the CEU.
Mill’s concept of nationality which was discussed in Chapter 5 offers one idea
of how discussion of nationality might feature in a liberal philosophy of educa-
tion. Mill shares with many of his liberal compatriots an idea of British nationality,
but it is not based on the superior understanding of highly educated rulers nor on
a belief in the unsullied wisdom of ordinary people giving expression to an
unchallengeable general will. It is a pragmatic nationalism which seeks to map the
shifting boundaries of what is considered part of the nation rather than seeking a
fixed and timeless definition which it then teaches people to accept uncritically.
Mill’s account of nationality allows the incorporation of other nationalities into
the existing nation as equal partners, and accepts that both national values and
national institutions change. In doing so it allows for and even encourages the
liberal civility which Locke argues is such an important part of the education of a
responsible citizen. A major challenge for liberal philosophies of education is to
design curricula which recognise the importance of national identity while also
encouraging genuinely critical thinking and o ­ penness to constant change.
Mill as we have seen recognises that acknowledging that a democratic nation
will change does not mean that one can accurately predict what these changes
will be. In his Autobiography he writes that from the outbreak of the American
Civil War he was convinced that, despite the horrors of the war, a northern
victory would have a positive effect, not only through the abolition of slavery
but more generally in the ability of American democracy to expand and develop
away from what he takes to be the narrow confines of the Constitution (CW,
I: 266–7). Yet Mill was in many important respects wrong in what he thought
the consequences would be, particularly with respect to the Constitution, which
was modified but not fundamentally changed.
This brings us back to Mead’s first point that it is impossible to know at
present how democratic societies will evolve to meet the crisis they currently
face. New insights, and consequent changes in practice, inevitably emerge as
144  Education in democratic societies
society develops, perhaps especially as it is forced to define itself against newly
emerging alternatives. The liberal interpretation of the Socratic Method, to
which Mill is firmly committed, becomes, in this view, an essential component
of education. It provides a means of drawing out and clarifying opinions and
beliefs which, particularly in rational discourse among adults, will sometimes
lead to significant amendments to the understanding and application of liberal
values. Such a view sees liberal democracy as the best form of government
because it enables the population at large to vote and thereby not only appoint
their representatives but also to reject them if they are deemed to have acted in
an unsuitable manner. Just as importantly, it emphasises the importance of an
educated population being able to enter into a rational analysis and discussion
of political and economic policies.
This does, though, raise a problem which has been discussed at several places
in the preceding chapters. While Mill is willing to accept radical change he does
also claim that the fundamental principles and structures of a society based on
liberal values should be preserved and protected. This commitment is partially
obscured by his argument of the need to extend freedoms and to uproot
oppressive forces in society. Nevertheless, it is clearly apparent in On Liberty
where he criticises the threats to the principle of liberty posed by intolerance
and the social opprobrium which he believes both encourages and feeds off the
tyranny of the majority, but defends the inviolability of the principle of liberty.
This might be seen as a particularly acute problem for Mill because if there
are some non-contestable values at the core of liberal democracy such that an
education ought to ensure their transmission to the next generation, would that
not fall under Mill’s condemnation as ‘obnoxious’? This is similar to the charges
which Joseph Carrig and others level against Locke – that his theory of liberal
education leads to an indoctrination of liberal values which most students
(and adult graduates of such an education) would then lack the skills to criticise.
Part of the answer lies in the claim (common to Mill and Locke, but opposed
by Plato and, to a lesser extent by Rousseau) that one of the most important
things to teach children is how to think critically. The values of critical thinking,
or more fully, thinking analytically which should involve thinking creatively and,
as Mill says, imaginatively, are what lies at the core of democracy and of a
democratic education.
In itself this response is not sufficient because a method of critical analysis
can, if used improperly, be a means of negatively undermining one’s opponents
without offering a viable alternative. As I argued in Chapter 2, Plato levelled
this criticism at the Sophists, and it is a charge which populists sometimes make
of what they see as the relentlessly negative criticism engendered by liberal
education practice. I also argued that when discussing the Socratic Method with
the benefit of having read the Republic, Socrates’ own practice might be seen as
a process of debunking self-styled experts in order to pave the way for the
acceptance of the later theory of Forms. This also has echoes, I suggested, in
populist attacks (anticipated by Rousseau) on the elite experts in liberal society
whose unpatriotic, cosmopolitan education has left them unable to grasp the
deeper truths understood by the people at large.
 Education in democratic societies  145
There is, though, a second part of Mill’s defence against the charge that he is
unwilling to challenge the most basic liberal values, and that he wants to
enshrine them in the education system. This is that all knowledge, not least
about politics and society, is provisional and subject to revision. It is an idea
which he shares with Locke. ‘Every step the mind takes in its progress towards
knowledge’, Locke writes in the ‘Epistle to the Reader’ at the start of the Essay,
‘makes some discovery, which is not only new, but the best too, for the time at
least’ (Locke 1824). The phrase ‘the best … for the time at least’ exemplifies
what I described in Chapter 3 and in the section on education and critical
thinking earlier in this chapter as the essential intellectual modesty of empiri-
cism. This an argument about epistemology but it is also about metaphysics in
that it claims this is how the world is. Given this is the case, an education which
does not recognise that all knowledge is provisional, and which fails both to
convey this to those who are being taught and to provide them with the
­intellectual skills to live in such a world, is significantly deficient.
This view also implies the need for education to be lifelong, particularly in
societies such as that of the early twenty-first century where change is constant.
Here Mead’s argument about the need for educational provision to adapt to the
changing circumstances of society links with liberals such as Locke and Mill.
This education may well be partly vocational, enabling people to develop new
skills as technologies and working practices change but it should also involve
reflection and debate about the political, social and economic implications of
those changes.
Mead is right to see a measure of optimism when looking to the past, but it
must be tempered by the realisation of the need to actively engage in bringing
about the right kind of changes. At the same time that the United States was
passing through the Gilded Age, nineteenth century liberals in Britain
developed an increasingly positive view of the ability of newly enfranchised
working-class men to engage seriously in political life. This was linked in their
minds to the need to ensure the high quality of public debate as the franchise
was extended, and of the central contribution of a serious press which regularly
reported important political speeches verbatim. A telling example of this is in
the case of Gladstone, a contemporary of Mill, many of whose values he shared
and who he once described as the conscience of liberalism.
In the early stages of his career, Gladstone shared the fears of most of his
contemporaries in the British political class that extending the franchise beyond
the narrow limits set by the Reform Act of 1832 would endanger the political
and economic fabric of society. Yet over time he came to believe that the polit-
ical education of the adult population, partly in the form of political oratory
extensively reported in the newspapers but also through a much expanded and
improved education system, would, in the words of the editor of his diaries and
biographer Matthew, greatly ease ‘the legitimation of the Victorian State’
(Matthew 1995: 94) as voters were able to follow the great debates of the day.14
Gladstone’s frequent pamphleteering on issues such as the Bulgarian atro-
cities, over which he appealed to the public in a manner that was critical of the
Tory government of Disraeli, which he saw as elitist and corrupt, and the whole
146  Education in democratic societies
tenor of the Midlothian Campaign would seem to bear this out. It is important
to emphasise, as Matthew does frequently, that it was because the voting popu-
lation were so well-informed and willing to take political and moral issues
­seriously that this worked. Mill provides a powerful intellectual justification for
these views in Considerations on Representative Government, where he stresses
both the need for formal schooling and for the informal education that came
through following debates that were widely published in newspapers as well as
through active participation in local politics.
The response of the British Liberal Party, and of the Progressive politicians
in the United States at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twen-
tieth centuries demonstrated not a mixture of fear and disdain but a respect for
those outside the traditional elite that is not always so obvious today. Of course
there were problems – such as the racist attitudes of otherwise liberal politicians
such as President Woodrow Wilson and the widespread belief in the ‘cleansing
power’ of eugenics15 – but there were also very significant moves towards
encouraging greater participation. The ‘Progressive Amendments’ to the Ameri-
can Constitution, particularly the Seventeenth which allowed for direct election
of Senators and the Nineteenth which protected women’s right to vote, showed
considerably more trust in the political thinking and action of the non-elite than
the Founders had displayed.
In works like The Subjection of Women (CW, XXI: 259–340) which provided
the intellectual groundwork for such changes, Mill argues that a far-reaching
extension and reform of education is central to ensuring their success. In saying
this, he does not think that such an education would reinforce the values of
­Victorian England and preserve the status quo. His argument is the opposite of
Rousseau’s at this point. Education should prepare children and adults to ques-
tion the values which have hitherto been accepted, values which Mill believes
reflect the interests of such reactionary groups as, to use the examples with
Matthew attributes to Gladstone, the army, the established clergy and the agri-
cultural interest (that is, the landed aristocracy). Education should be the driver
of the necessary changes and disruption which Mill believes are essential to
bring about the needed improvement in society.
From Mill’s perspective, populist criticisms offer important insights into what
is problematic about contemporary education and society. An elitist education
which excludes the many and reinforces in the few a belief both in their own
superiority and global citizenship over citizenship of one’s own country is divi-
sive and unjust. Moreover, by restricting the provision of high-quality education
so that men and women from non-elite backgrounds are excluded, it deprives
the country of many potentially dynamic and resourceful leaders. It is not
­surprising that many people feel disillusioned and angry.
But a liberal such as Mill would also argue that the solutions which populists
offer are inadequate. At a political level, populists offer an alternative that is too
narrow and unimaginative – the return to a nationalism that is closed and
unable to interact creatively and confidently with a rapidly changing world. In
education this is reinforced by an emphasis on national identity and values that
must necessarily be defensive and fearful both of external cultural influences and
 Education in democratic societies  147
of the critical thinking that is necessary for a society to learn from its mistakes
and develop new plans for the future. At times of crisis populism lacks the
resources to embrace the radical changes that are necessary.
The fundamental reason for the current crisis of democracy, though, from
Mill’s perspective, is not the rise of populism, which is only a symptom. The real
problem is the failure of liberalism and, particularly from our perspective, the
failings of liberal education. At the heart of Mill’s argument, and of Locke’s
too, is a belief that education provides an essential basis for commitment to, and
participation in, society. When education fails to achieve this, as it appears to be
doing for large numbers of people in contemporary Europe and North America,
the sense of identity and belonging which Mill thought essential to a free
society begin to disappear. So too does the civility which Locke thought indis-
pensable, as does the will and commitment to seize the opportunity to bring
about innovative change. The crisis of democracy in liberal societies is to a
considerable extent a crisis of an education which is itself in urgent need of
renewal.

Notes
  1 Bourdieu also argues that children from non-privileged backgrounds are handicapped
when competing to study at more prestigious schools and universities because they
lack the social capital which gives children of wealthy and well-educated parents a
­distinct advantage. This is also a criticism made by some populists.
 2 For Mazzini’s life and thought see Denis Mack Smith’s Mazzini (1994) and for a
discussion of his cosmopolitan view of a Europe of Nations, and his belief in the need
for universal education, see C. A. Bayly and E. F. Giuseppe Biagini (2008).
  3 Mill wrote to Mazzini (21st February 1858) to say that he regarded him as someone
with whom he had many thoughts and feelings in common and, most unusually, that
he and his wife would welcome Mazzini as a guest (CW, XV: 548).
 4 Huntington devotes a long chapter of Who Are We: The Challenges to America’s
National Identity to his claims about the danger that Mexican/Hispanic migration
presents to the future of the United States (Huntington 2004: Chapter 9). He
argues that one of the major problems is the lack of educational assimilation of
­Mexican-Americans (Huntington 2004: 232–4).
 5 Even if the knowledge is true this should not require unquestioning obedience as
long as the people have the opportunity to challenge both the knowledge and its
application. This in turn requires that the elite holders of knowledge be willing to be
as open as possible about the knowledge and its application, and to be willing to
enter into a genuinely educative dialogue with the people at large. This genuinely
educative dialogue is a lot harder to achieve than might first appear. One reason is
the psychological difficulty some experts have in sharing their knowledge based
perhaps on arrogance and a confusion between the relatively poor education many
from non-elite backgrounds have experienced and their potential ability when pro-
vided with the appropriate information and skills. Another, sometimes linked to the
first, is that the populist criticism of elites as wishing to maximise their own power for
political or financial reasons is sometimes justified. A third reason is that some experts
are ill-equipped to present their detailed knowledge clearly to non-specialists. While
this might be understandable in some areas of theoretical physics it is much less clear
why this should be the case in political science or social policy.
  6 Huntington agrees with this argument from his vantage point at Harvard University
(Huntington 2004: 270).
  7 In the myth of the metals Plato even suggests that those who become philosopher
rulers after the republic is established will share in the common belief of the myth
148  Education in democratic societies
(Republic 415a–c). While this raises problems about how philosophers trained to the
exceptional heights that Plato proposes would be unable to see through the myth, it
does underline that the rulers ought to be deeply integrated into society (which is the
point he wants to make here).
  8 Rousseau is uneasy about the claim that the Lawgiver for Poland should be a non-
Pole, which was precisely the position in which he found himself (Rousseau 2019b:
181). Unlike the situation of people who have just left the state of nature, Poles
already have a culture which the Lawgiver needs to understand and, where possible,
build upon.
 9 Compare also his discussion of Emile’s acceptance of the values inculcated by his
education (Riley 2001: 133).
10 Mazzini, to take a historical example, thought that the Papacy formed one of the
gravest challenges to democracy in a unified Italy (Smith 1994: 193).
11 Coincidentally, Mead is a Professor of Foreign Affairs and Humanities at Bard
College in New York, the American institution to which the CEU is affiliated.
12 For an illuminating discussion of this period see Richard White The Republic
for Which it Stands: The United States during Reconstruction and the Gilded Age,
1865–1896 (2018).
13 I am not suggesting that Mead would deny this. His books such as Special Provi-
dence: American Foreign Policy and How it Changed the World (2001), and God and
Gold: Britain, America and the Making of the Modern World (2007) are models of
the kind of works on politics and history which should form the backbone of a
humanistic education. The point I wish to make is that by emphasising the need to
provide a more appropriate education, often focusing, as in recent government initi-
atives in the United Kingdom on STEM, there is the danger of less importance been
given (and less funding being made available) for humanities and liberal arts subjects.
14 Gladstone in turn came to have a great deal of respect for the views of the less soph-
isticated members of society because he believed that, in Matthew’s words, ‘large and
influential groups within society – the army, the established clergy, the agricultural
interest – were ready to assert a class interest in politics…’ (1995: 95).
15 For a criticism of the Progressive era which emphasises these and other defects see
Thomas C. Leonard, Illiberal Reformers: Race, Eugenics and American Economics in
the Progressive Era (2016).
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Index

absolutism 12, 81 beliefs 5–6, 9–10, 12–14, 20–2, 37–9, 51,

abuse 56, 114, 125, 128 57, 59, 64, 70–1, 115–18, 129–31,
active citizens 23, 55, 66, 109, 119, 142 133–5, 143–4, 146–7; commonplace
adults 64–5, 104, 113, 118, 136, 144, 115; false 61; fundamental 128;
146; equal 137; independently-minded ideological 4, 123; and John Stuart
94; responsible 136; young 5, 125 Mill’s insistence on importance of
affirmative action 3 challenging commonly held 115;
‘age of reason’ 99 philosophical 52; theistic 116
Albright, Madeline 8, 21 Berlin, Isiah 13–14
Alcibiades (Athenian statesman) 38 boarding schools 65, 67
Apology (Plato) 39, 60, 84 Bourdieu, Pierre 125
apprentices 129–30 Brexit campaign 133
arguments 4–5, 13–14, 18–20, 28–9, 33–4, Britain 11, 111, 125, 133, 143, 145; and
46–9, 53–60, 63–4, 66–7, 81–2, 97–8, membership of the European Union 18;
111–12, 118–19, 123–30, 133–6; political classes 145
abstract 37; authoritarian 94; East British Liberal Party 51, 107, 146
Central European and Russian British referendum 2016 18, 131
Orthodox populist 60; liberal 51, 125;
of Paul-Michel Foucault concerning Cambridge Platonists 48, 52
‘internalized social discipline’ 64; Carrig, Joseph 64–5, 144
populist 32, 41, 56, 59–60, 80, 120, Central European University 1–2, 6, 9, 21,
127, 129, 131, 142; reasoned 87, 115 23–4, 26–8, 59, 64, 80, 84, 110, 113,
Athenian democracy 33–5, 38, 41; opposed 118, 126, 143; claims that educational
by Socrates 38; Plato’s criticisms of 34; institutions should be internationalist in
and the role of the state in education 34; outlook 27; and the objections of the
and society 33–4, 39, 140 Orbán government 90; and the position
Athenians 33–4, 84, 109, 119 of liberals such as John Stuart Mill 27
Athens 33–4, 40, 84, 87 CEU see Central European University
authoritarian 8–10, 38, 82, 93–4, 107, children 14–15, 34–6, 46–9, 54–6, 61–2,
116, 118, 120, 139; arguments 94; 64–7, 71–8, 80, 82, 85–6, 92–5, 98,
education 94; government 116, 118, 103–5, 136, 138; ‘allegedly corrupted
120; society 82, 94 by promoting liberal ideas 76;
authoritarianism 8–9, 82, 93 developing minds of 48; educating of
Autobiography (Mill) 103–6, 108, 113, 96; indoctrinating of 125; and Locke’s
115, 117, 143 view on the father’s authority 136;
autonomy 6–7, 13, 27, 37, 60, 64, 74, 81, teaching of 6, 46, 144; and the working
84, 113, 131, 135–7; and critical environment of the industrial age 142
thinking 64, 81; in education and Christian 9, 50, 96–7, 116; beliefs and
politics 6, 135; moral 44; national 136; practices 62; civilisation 9; identity 25;
personal 14, 18, 31, 57, 60, 106, 123, society 76; values 63, 76
136, 139; promotion of 4, 26 Christian Democrat Party, Hungary 24
auxiliaries 34–7; see also soldiers Christianity 59, 76, 96–7
158  Index
church and state, separation of 57–8, 97 de Tocqueville, Alexis 105, 140
Church of England 58; see also Christianity debates 2, 55–6, 116
citizens 12–13, 15, 18–20, 33, 55–7, 72, democracy see also liberal democracy 7–10,
77–9, 83, 88–92, 95, 97, 113, 115–17, 16–22, 28, 31–5, 38–42, 87, 89, 105,
127–8, 136–9; active 23, 55, 66, 109, 107, 117–18, 123–4, 131, 133–4,
119, 142; adult 51, 71; educated 55, 139–41, 147; Athenian 33–5, 38, 41;
108, 137, 141; good 45, 53, 61, 89, crisis of 8, 17, 123, 140–1, 147; ideas
97, 138; patriotically-minded 5, 127; of liberalism and liberal 108, 141;
responsible 6, 45, 61, 71, 136, 143; ill-regulated 140; populist 22, 34,
virtuous 98; well-educated 55 123, 137
citizenship 15, 79, 84, 91, 95, 124, 146; democratic governments 2, 24,
cosmopolitan 84; French 111; global 117–18, 124
15, 84, 146 democratic institutions 23
civility 5–6, 18, 41, 59–63, 66, 94, 109, democratic societies 1–2, 20, 23, 26–7,
116, 123–6, 128, 147; cosmopolitan 39–40, 94, 105–6, 123–4, 134, 139,
126; inner 63; liberal 143; Locke’s 143; contemporary 124; education in
defence of 62; political 126; sense of 123–47; healthy 10; liberal 1, 4, 8–9,
109, 116; teaching of 5, 62, 125, 131 26, 31, 41, 67, 123, 134, 137
classes 23, 34, 37, 51, 126; leisured 50; DeVos, Betsy 3, 21
middle 119; political 145 Dewey, John 11, 35–6, 75, 86–7
Cold War 1, 8–9 dialectic, study and training in 37–40
communism 8–9, 20, 24, 26, 59, 107, 139 dialogues, Platonic 32, 38–40, 76, 87, 90,
community 5–6, 19–20, 25, 28, 40–1, 103, 134; early 38–9; middle 37; Mill’s
55–6, 60, 78–9, 81–4, 86, 88–91, 109, early reading of 103
126–7, 131–3, 135–6; academic 1, 9, Diderot, Denis 44, 83
130; global 15; harmonious 78; national Discourse on the Sciences and Arts
6, 126–7, 143; political 124; stable 59 (Rousseau) 70–2, 74, 77, 83, 85, 98
consensus 2, 4, 117, 123, 127; measure of dissent 23, 92–4, 118, 138
stability and 4, 123; social 126 Divine Right of Kings (theory) 64, 129,
contemporary populism 5, 17–18, 28, 84, 139
126–7; and Jean-Jacques Rousseau 5; Dunn, John 50
and nationalism 5, 125–6
contemporary society 60, 76, 84, 90 Eastern Europe 9, 26–7, 107
Copernicanism 74, 76 economic policies 25, 144; national 25;
corporal punishment 46, 66 neo-liberal 25
corruption 25, 39, 71–3, 76, 79–81, 84, education 1–15, 18–21, 23–8, 31–9, 41,
94–5, 116, 133, 135, 138, 140; alleged 44–67, 70–99, 103–9, 112–20,
40; political 66; and the rejection by 123–47; adult 118–19; contemporary
Plato of its presence in his society 135; 71, 138, 142, 146; cosmopolitan 144;
in society 72, 74, 76–7, 80, 86, 94–5, democratic 144; elite 36, 70; equipping
135 citizens to actively participate as free-
Corsican societies 80–1, 89–90 thinking individuals 113; formal 36, 51,
cosmopolitanism 14, 54, 70, 83, 126–7, 96, 127, 133; general 55–6; in Hungary
140, 143 59, 76; illiberal 41; informal 36, 119,
crisis 8, 17, 35, 140, 142–3, 147; of 127, 133, 146; and institutions 3, 8,
democracy 8, 17, 123, 140–1, 147; 27–8, 56, 71, 106, 110, 130; liberal
financial 19, 24, 42 9–29, 52, 57, 64, 125, 144, 147; and
critical thinking 2, 4, 6, 12, 14, 26–7, liberty 103; mass 21; moral 62;
36–7, 41, 51–2, 56–7, 60–1, 105–7, multi-culturalist 130; in Poland 79, 82,
131–2, 134–5, 143–5; and autonomy 93, 95, 104, 137; policies 1, 13, 73;
64, 81; and expertise 52; independent 90 provisions 28, 72, 120; public 86, 95,
curriculum, state-regulated 28 130; sophisticated 125; sound 61, 63–4,
72, 118, 138; systems 4–5, 18–19, 56,
Dahl, Robert 10, 18 59, 65, 89–90, 92–4, 99, 111–12, 120,
dangers 3, 5–6, 11–12, 14–15, 20, 128, 132–3, 137, 139, 142–3; universal
39, 54, 64–5, 106, 108, 116, 118, 6, 12, 117–18
120, 128, 141; constant 86; greatest elites 18–19, 53, 60–1, 67, 70, 75, 125,
96; real 10 130, 138, 140–1; corrupt 20;
 Index  159
cosmopolitan 21, 128; educated 6, 34, Geneva Manuscript (Rousseau) 83
59, 67, 89, 120; global 90, 140; Gerson, Michael 2
intellectual 70; international 84; liberal Gilman, Nils 15
5, 64; members of 19; small 72, 130; Ginsborg, Paul 8, 17
unresponsive internal 7, 135; wealthy 51 Gladstone, William 51, 106, 145–6
Emile (Rousseau) 4, 28, 36, 45, 67, 70, global elites 90, 140
72–81, 84–7, 90–1, 93–6, 98, 103–5, God 12–13, 48, 58–60, 82, 84, 96,
135, 138–9 116, 128
empirical knowledge 44, 88 Goodwyn, Lawrence 16
Enlightenment 44–5, 54, 83, 99, 132, government 1–2, 7–9, 11–12, 35, 44–5,
139; eighteenth century 14; philosophes 57–8, 70, 86, 89, 92–5, 106, 110,
50; thinkers 44, 83, 129 112–13, 129, 143–4; authoritarian 116,
Enlightenment thinkers 44, 83, 129 118, 120; control 86, 99, 133;
equality 13–14, 80, 128; economic 88; democratic 2, 24, 117–18, 124; of
political 33 France 51; of Hungary 1–2, 6, 20,
Essay Concerning Human Understanding 23–4, 26, 59, 107, 112, 126, 143;
(Locke) 45–7, 52, 56, 67, 138, 145 liberal 57; local 106, 119, 130; mixed
European societies 72–4, 84–5, 124 81; oppressive 50; of Poland 20, 28, 59,
European Union 7–9, 15, 18, 21, 24, 59, 70, 72, 106, 109; populist 23, 37,
70, 80, 96, 100, 126, 131, 135; and 56–7, 107, 128, 141; powers 12,
Abbé St Pierre 70, 96; emphasis on 106; representative 5, 16, 22, 41,
education exchanges and partnerships 67, 106, 110, 112, 118, 120, 128,
between individuals and institutions 21; 138–9, 146
governance of the 42; and the United Grote, George 32, 114
Kingdom referendum 18
expertise 4–5, 23, 26–7, 34, 40, 52, 54–7, Havel, Vaclev 24
61, 118, 128–31; claims to 39–40, 130, HEEA see Higher European
135; and critical thinking 52; in Education Area
education and politics 5, 128; skill- Held, David 15
based 55; specialist 23, 56; true 39–40 higher education 1, 6, 9, 35–7, 91, 119
experts 3, 13, 23, 27, 31, 35, 37–40, Higher European Education Area 91
42, 54–7, 60, 117–18, 128–9, 131–2, Hobbes, Thomas 10, 81–3, 85
134; distrust of 23; elite 37, 144; Hofstadter, Richard 15–16
Kant’s discussion of 132; opinions of human mind see minds
42, 54–6; skilled 31, 88, 117; Socrates’ Hungarian government of Viktor Orbán
criticism of 39 1–2, 6, 23–4, 26, 107, 112, 126, 143;
criticism of the CEU 1–2, 6, 21;
faith 29, 50–1, 58–9, 74, 97, 116–17 populist 1, 23
Farr, James 82 Hungarian society 25, 58–9
fathers 65–6, 103–5, 125, 136–7 Hungary 1, 6, 8–9, 18, 20, 23–4, 26, 37,
fears 4, 8, 10–11, 14, 64–6, 100, 105, 107, 59, 73, 80, 128, 134, 141, 143; and the
110, 112, 116, 123, 127, 141, 145–6 Christian Democrats 24; education
feelings 36, 44, 53–4, 73–4, 85, 87–8, system 59, 76; Fidesz government in
96–7, 134; audience’s 96; innate 87; 18; government of 1–2, 6, 23–4, 26,
natural human 88, 136 107, 112, 126, 143; and the policies of
Foer, Franklin 1 Orbán 72; Soviet rule in 24
Foucault, Paul-Michel 64 Huntington, Samuel 17, 84, 124,
foundations 37, 42, 50, 52, 58–9, 67, 81, 128, 130
138; intellectual 3; metaphysical 114;
philosophical 9; political 56; religious 116 ideological beliefs 4, 123
France 51, 57, 59, 81, 85, 95, 104, 143 Ignatieff, Michael 1
franchise 51, 105, 107, 117–18, 120, 145 illiberal 5, 8, 14, 17, 38, 80, 111–12,
Freire, Paulo 38, 49–50 128, 138; education 41; governments 2,
Fukuyama, Francis 17, 22, 112, 124 141; rulers 6; societies 1, 24, 64; states
8, 26
generations 2, 72, 80–1, 88, 93, 98–9, indifference 52–3, 55; attitude of 52,
106, 108, 120, 124, 138, 140–1, 144 54; epistemological 53; political 53
Geneva 73, 80, 82, 91, 96–8, 127 individual liberty 12, 28, 70, 77, 105
160  Index
individuals 6, 12, 16, 21, 25, 52, 63–4, liberal nationalism 22, 110, 127
71, 83, 85–6, 90, 92, 109, 132–3; Liberal Party see British Liberal Party
adult 115; autonomous 74, 118; liberal society 4, 13–14, 45, 52, 57–9,
critically-minded 59; free-thinking 113; 61–2, 64–6, 111, 114–16, 123, 125,
self-centred 62, 106; well-rounded 54 136–7, 144, 147
inequality 19, 77, 85 liberal thinkers 3, 41, 47, 114, 127
innate ideas 45, 47–8 liberal values 1, 5, 13, 20, 25, 27, 34, 52,
institutions 9, 16, 21, 23, 25, 53, 59, 91, 63–4, 105, 108, 116, 127, 144–5
119–20, 140, 142; democratic 23; liberalism 1, 6, 10–13, 19, 22, 44–5,
educational 3, 8, 27–8, 56, 71, 106, 49–51, 59, 63–4, 103, 106–8, 110,
110, 130; higher education 91; 141, 145, 147
intermediate 106; liberal 64; liberal liberals 5–7, 10, 13, 19, 23, 27, 51, 56, 64,
democratic 1, 4, 8–9, 23, 26, 31, 41, 99–100, 105, 126–7, 129, 131, 135–6;
67, 123, 134, 137; political 34, 124; cosmopolitan 110; left-wing Western 25;
social 60, 78, 95; stable 140 and populists 4–5, 14, 20, 23, 26, 29;
interests 2–3, 23, 28, 53, 56, 84, 86, 89, seeking limits on the power of the state
91–2, 96–7, 106, 108, 111, 131–2, 12; stressing the freedom of the
138; agricultural 146; informed 106; individual 12, 51; and the visions of
particular 53, 75; personal 78; of society nineteenth and twentieth century 67, 145
27, 120; true 71–2, 97–8, 132 liberty 4, 6–7, 14, 25, 27, 51, 103, 105,
108–9, 113, 115, 118, 128, 139, 144;
Jackson, Andrew 22 and education 103; individual 12, 28,
Jefferson, Thomas 11, 50, 58, 97, 129 70, 77, 105; principle of 13, 27, 33, 144
Jolley, Nicholas 45, 58 Locke, John 4–7, 10–13, 27–8, 44–67,
Jowett, Benjamin 32, 36 81–2, 89–90, 94, 103–4, 108–9, 116,
Judis, John B. 17, 22, 112 123–5, 130–1, 135–41, 143–5, 147;
argues that education should be general
Kaltwasser, Cristóbal Rovira 17 to enable a gentleman to take his place
Kant, Immanuel 12, 14, 98–9, 132 in society 131; belief in the importance
Kloppenberg, James 3, 10–11, 133 of education taking place within the
knowledge 34, 37, 39, 44, 46–8, 50, 52, family 60, 65; belief that the teaching of
54–6, 89, 129–30, 132, 134–5, 137, critical thinking is an important part of
142, 145; detailed 54, 61, 81; empirical education 60; and the concept of
44, 88; materials of 49, 65; specialist 44, toleration 45; criticises the theory of
54, 56, 130 innate ideas 47; epistemology 47, 49;
Koganzon, Rita 46, 64 and his argument concerning the basis
of knowledge 47; and his belief that
law 12, 32–4, 58–9, 67, 78, 80, 82–3, 86, rights are given by God 12; and his
88–9, 91–3, 106, 133; basic 78; justified theory of knowledge 52; publications
criticism of 89; moral 13, 99; natural had a profound effect on the
89, 137; rule of 12, 16, 138 Enlightenment thinkers of the
lawgivers 77–8, 80, 99, 133 eighteenth century 44
The Laws (Plato) 32
learning 2, 62, 66, 71, 74–5, 77–8, 80, Madison, James 11, 16, 44, 50, 97,
85, 104, 131–2; of children 95; 120, 129
maturity 2; styles 38 Marx, Karl 22, 50
legislative powers 58 Masters, R.D. 98
Letter to M. d’Alembert on the Theatre mathematics 37, 47–8, 54, 76
(Rousseau) 79, 83, 96–7, 127 Mead, Walter Russell 142, 145
liberal democracy 8–9, 17, 20, 22, 27, 41, middle classes 119
94, 107–8, 112, 115, 119, 123, 137, Mill, James (father of John Stuart Mill)
139–41, 144; institutions 1, 4, 8–9, 23, 103–5, 119
26, 31, 41, 67, 123, 134, 137; modern Mill, John Stuart 4–7, 10–14, 22, 27–9,
31, 33; and populism 7, 10, 22–3, 31, 31–4, 36, 40–1, 67, 86–7, 99–100,
123; representatives of 139 103–20, 127–8, 130–1, 134–9, 141–7;
liberal education 9–29, 52, 57, 64, 125, accused of claiming that small and less
144, 147 advanced nations may be absorbed into
 Index  161
larger ones 111; argues that the philosophers 3–4, 28, 32, 37, 39–40, 44,
principle of liberty is a universal 46–7, 70, 87, 97, 103, 123; and
principle 13, 112–13, 117; and the historians of ideas 82; liberal 14, 33;
Autobiography 103–6, 108, 113, 115, potential 37; pre-Socratic 114;
117, 143; discussion of nationality 22, seventeenth century 52
117, 128, 143; dismisses the philosophical beliefs 52
metaphysical foundations of the theory philosophy 2, 4, 6, 31, 37, 40, 75, 97,
of Forms 114; insistence on the 104; educational 44, 79; moral 71;
importance of challenging commonly political 63; speculative 114
held beliefs 115; interpretation of the Pierre, Abbé St 70, 96
Socratic Method 109 Plato 3–5, 27, 31–42, 44, 57, 80, 86–8,
minds 8, 47–9, 51–4, 56, 60–1, 64–6, 71, 113–15, 117, 119, 123, 125–6, 130–1,
74–5, 78, 100, 108, 112, 114, 137, 133–5, 137–40; argues that current
145; enquiring 104; individual 48; society cannot be reformed but must be
internal civility of the 61; young 49 recreated 31, 42; argument of the need
Mitchell, Thomas 33–4, 38 for wise rulers to guide the
Monet, Jean 21 unenlightened majority 31; attributes of
moral law 13, 99 39; criticises Athenian democracy 34;
moral truths 13, 84 criticisms of 37; fears of democratic
moral values 14, 107 societies to be driven by irrational,
Mudde, Cas 17 confused and self-centred individuals
Müller, Jan-Werner 17, 20 106; and his influence on Jean-Jacques
Rousseau 20, 42, 67, 88, 135, 138; Karl
national community 6, 126–7, 143 Popper’s criticisms of 37; and The Laws
national education 84, 126 32; misgivings about democracy 41; and
national identity 5, 21–2, 96, 110–12, the philosopher rulers 34–6, 39, 41, 87,
126–7, 142–3, 146 126, 131, 138; rejection of empiricism
national values 21, 26, 140, 142–3 52, 135; rejection of the corruption of
nationalism 5, 15, 18, 21–2, 41, 110, 112, his society 135; and the Republic 42,
126–8, 139, 146; aggressive 112; anti- 84, 138; and the soldiers 34, 131;
liberal 110; and contemporary populism and The Statesman 32; stresses that
5, 125–6; language of 21, 110; populist those who are to become rulers need
22; pragmatic 143 to be educated to develop the skill of
nationality 5, 22, 110–12, 117, 128, 143; ruling 35; stresses that those who are
discussions of 109, 143; Mill’s defence to become rulers need to become
of in Considerations on Representative experts in government 35, 37;
Government 32, 128; and national theory of education 52, 80, 87;
education 126–8 and the workers 15, 34, 49, 106
nations 18, 21, 25–7, 41, 57, 90, 111, Polansky, David 19
127, 143 policies 2, 9, 20, 27, 42, 53–4, 70, 89,
natural law 89, 137 107, 113, 117–18, 120, 133; economic
newspapers 112, 145–6 25, 144; education 1, 13, 73;
non-democratic states 9, 25 educational 2, 23, 54, 56, 83, 107;
liberal 3, 24; New Deal 11; populist
Obama, Barack 25 education 72, 112; social 67;
obligations 12, 15, 53, 124 transnational 80
Orbán, Viktor 2, 15, 18, 21, 24–5, 27–8, political community 124
56, 58–9, 84, 107, 112, 136; argues political equality 33
that the Hungarian nation must be political philosophy 63
organised and reinforced 25; political powers 5
government of 90, 100, 118, 133; and political societies 2, 12, 31, 41, 45, 110
the Hungarian government 24 political systems 9, 23, 120
O’Sullivan, John 25 politicians 2–3, 7, 9, 24, 40, 54, 124, 127,
130, 135, 137, 140–2; elite 133;
personal autonomy 14, 18, 31, 57, 60, European 15; liberal 133, 146; populist
106, 123, 136, 139 3, 21, 110, 133; professional 19;
philosopher rulers 34–6, 39, 41, 87, progressive 146
126, 131, 138 Popper, Karl 14, 35, 37
162  Index
populism 7–29, 31, 40, 42, 45, 53, 56, perspective, is bound to act contrary to
60, 67, 70, 72, 82–3, 106, 110, the interests of the community 91;
112–13; growth of 8–9, 110, 140; argues that not all states are suitable for
Hofstadter’s perception of 15; and Jean- the form of self-government 80;
Jacques Rousseau 5; left-wing 18; and arguments about social institutions
liberal democracy 7, 10, 22–3, 31, 123; and citizenship at the beginning of
modern 93, 96; and nationalism 5, Emile 95; claims in The Social Contract
125–6; right-wing 1, 17–18; that the English are only free when they
twenty-first century 3, 22, 142 vote in parliamentary elections 76, 89;
populist arguments 32, 41, 56, 59–60, 80, claims that in a just society sovereignty
120, 127, 129, 131, 142 must always remain with the people 89;
populist criticisms 61–2, 146 and contemporary populism 5; contends
populist education policies 72, 112 that duties to the community take
populist governments 23, 37, 56–7, 107, precedence over individual freedom 6,
128, 141 71; contrasts with the liberal idea of a
populist nationalism 22 universal will which reflects the good of
populists 3–7, 10, 13–14, 16–20, 22–3, humanity 83; and his difference from
26–7, 31–3, 41, 57–9, 64, 125–8, 130, Locke on the issue of knowledge of the
132–3, 135–6, 146; contemporary 5, national law 89; and Plato 20, 67, 88,
42, 59, 126, 130; European 96; left- 135, 138; and The Platonic
wing 18; right-wing 94 Enlightenment 87; rejection of the idea
Postel, Charles 16 of a theatre in Geneva 91; and The
powers 12, 19–20, 24, 51, 56, 61, 92, 97, Social Contract 12, 72, 76–7, 79–83,
106–7, 110, 118–19, 125, 129, 137, 89–90, 92, 96, 98–9, 127, 133,
140; exercising of 35; of government 135, 137
12, 106; legislative 58; political 5 rulers 5, 33, 35, 37, 40–1, 53, 59, 86,
Protestant Dissenters 59 128–31, 133, 135; educated 41, 143;
public education 86, 95, 130 illiberal 6; philosopher 34–6, 39, 41,
punishment, corporal 46, 66 87, 126, 131, 138; potential 129
Putin, Vladimir 94 Runciman, David 9, 17
Russell, Algernon Sydney Lord William 50
Rawls, John 12 Russia 9, 24–5
reasoning 85, 88, 93–4, 113, 125; abstract
44, 90; with children 94; good 116; Sanders, Bernie 15, 18
negative 115 schools 57, 65, 67, 76, 88, 91, 93, 111,
referendums 16, 18; see also British 127, 130; boarding 65, 67; Polish 133;
referendum primary 134; publicly-funded 3, 57;
religion 10, 51, 57–8, 62, 73, 76, 96–7, secular 76; Welsh 111; Western 83
110, 135 Second Reform Act 51
religious beliefs 57–8, 60, 63, 116 self-development 108–9, 113
Republic (Plato) 4–5, 31–41, 52, 78, 80–1, self-love 85, 87–8
86, 94, 96, 99, 117, 126, 130–3, sentiments 106, 110; current 114; national
139, 144 110, 112; nationalist 21, 112
Riley, Patrick 82, 98–9, 137 separation of church and state 57–8, 97
Roch, Stefan 26–7 skilled experts 31, 88, 117
Roman Catholicism 51, 57–8 skills 19, 27, 35, 40, 49, 55, 86, 88–9,
Roman Catholics 20, 59, 63, 73, 107–8, 106, 113, 124–5, 128, 130–1, 135, 144
118; British 59; conservative values of The Social Contract (Rousseau) 12, 72,
76, 80; orthodox 73, 96 76–7, 79–83, 89–90, 92, 96, 98–9,
Roosevelt, Franklin D. 11, 16 127, 133, 135, 137
Roosevelt, Theodore 11, 16 social order 49–50, 57, 105
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 2–6, 17–18, 27–9, society 4–6, 12–15, 17–23, 26–8, 31–2,
31–4, 39, 41–2, 45, 61, 66–7, 70–100, 34–5, 37–41, 55–67, 70–4, 76–8, 80–
103–6, 125–7, 132, 134–40, 143–4; 100, 123–8, 130–1, 133–40, 144–7;
ambiguous relationship to the adversarial 5; Christian 76; civil 61–2;
Enlightenment and liberalism 44; argues cohesive 14, 81, 113; contemporary
that a school, or a university teaching 60, 76, 84, 90; Corsican 80–1, 89–90;
students from a liberal cosmopolitan free 6, 85, 99, 113, 147; good 81, 87;
 Index  163
hierarchical 34, 44, 49; host 128, 130; Tarcov, Nathan 47, 50, 57
Hungarian 25, 58–9; ideal 72, 95, Taylor, Charles 116–17
137–8; and Jean-Jacques Rousseau 72; Taylor, Harriet 105–6
Mill’s conception of 119; modern 1, 66, teaching 1, 6, 24, 26, 38, 41, 57–8, 60,
77; Plato’s understanding of 131; and 62–3, 75, 97, 103–4, 129, 131, 135; of
Poland 78, 82, 88; purification of children 6, 46, 144; of civility 5, 62,
18, 20–1; stable 4, 18, 26–7, 31, 59, 125, 131; esoteric 98; ideas 126; moral
123, 127 57, 108, 118
Socrates 32, 34, 38–40, 60, 76, 84, 103, tensions 27, 113, 131, 134, 136, 139–40
109, 114–17, 134, 144; and the Apology terms 3, 6–7, 9–13, 15–19, 22, 33–4, 37,
39, 60, 84; constant questioning of the 41, 82–3, 85, 106–7, 110, 112, 135,
so-called experts 39, 60; criticises the 138; abstract 114; democratic 110; equal
acceptance of traditional opinions and 111; metaphysical 60; unintelligible 56
current sentiment 114; criticism of theatre 36, 71, 79, 91, 96–8, 127
experts in the Apology 39; opposes theology 48, 51, 58; Calvinist 82; and
Athenian democracy 38; relentless innate ideas 47
negative questioning 60; support for theory 11, 32, 38–40, 44, 47–8, 52, 63–4,
democracy 38 73, 77, 82, 114, 120, 134, 139, 144;
Socratic Method 32, 37–8, 40–2, 60, 107, contemporary populist 23; educational
109, 113–15, 117, 134–5, 138, 144 39, 86; empiricist 52; of Freire 49;
soldiers 34, 131 liberal 12–13, 27, 49, 58, 134;
Some Thoughts Concerning Education pedagogic 104; social contract 12
(Locke) 4, 45–6, 48, 54, 60–6, 103, thinking 11, 33, 42, 45, 47–50, 52–3, 56,
108–9, 136, 138 58, 64–5, 76, 90, 94, 99, 127, 144;
Soros, George 24, 27 abstract 37, 70; critical 2, 4, 6, 12, 14,
sovereign 72, 82–3, 86, 88–92, 136–7; 26–7, 36–7, 41, 51–2, 56–7, 60–1,
absolute 10, 83; citizen body 72, 89 105–7, 131–2, 134–5, 143–5; passive
specialists 47, 54, 56, 67, 139 65; political 146; populist 10;
St Pierre, Abbe 70, 126 progressive 45
Stanley, Jason 8, 21, 115–16 Thirty Years War 10
state education systems 56, 118 Thomas, Keith 124
state-regulated curriculum 28 Trump, Donald 2–3, 8: liberal critics of 3;
states 9, 11–12, 19–21, 24–5, 33–7, 56–9, and the policy on migrants 20; and the
63, 72–3, 76–7, 80, 85–6, 88–92, 97, rallies 125; slogan Make America Great
112–13, 127–8; illiberal 8, 26; liberal 18; and the United States 2, 8, 15–16,
51, 56–7, 67, 110; non-democratic 9, 18, 21–2, 133
25; non-liberal 26 truth 20, 40–1, 48, 51, 53, 60, 87–8, 109,
The Statesman (Plato) 32 115, 134–5, 139, 144; absolute 44;
students 3, 13–14, 26–7, 46, 58, 74–5, eternal 87; moral 13, 84; timeless 52,
90–1, 104, 113, 118, 129, 132, 87; universal 32
142, 144 tutors 46, 73, 75–6, 93, 95, 104
The Subjection of Women (Mill) 146
subjects 17, 24, 52, 55, 61–2, 92, 107–8, United Nations 7, 15, 135
117, 134, 136–7, 141, 145; United States 1–3, 8, 10–11, 15–17, 19,
abstract 104; religious 73; social 125; 73, 124–5, 128–30, 133, 145–6
teaching of 76 United States Supreme Court 16
Sullivan, Andrew 3, 31
systems 12, 19, 22, 25, 38, 40, 60, 92–3, values 5–6, 18–22, 26–8, 41–2, 44,
106, 112, 118, 120; authoritarian 120; 55–61, 80–4, 87–91, 93–100, 107–8,
democratic 120; education 4–5, 18–19, 120, 126–8, 130–4, 141–2, 144–6;
56, 59, 65, 89–90, 92–4, 99, 111–12, Christian 63, 76; educational 40,
120, 128, 132–3, 137, 139, 142–3; 130; fundamental 23, 27, 57, 64, 82,
egalitarian education 36; enlarged 116, 139; Hungarian 118; liberal 1, 5,
formal education 119; funded education 13, 20, 25, 27, 34, 52, 63–4, 105, 108,
12; hierarchical education 19; 116, 127, 144–5; moral 14, 107;
nationalistic education 26; patriotic national 21, 26, 140, 143; Polish 80,
education 72; state education 56, 118; 88, 90; religious 57, 60; shared 63, 78,
unifying education 128 126; traditional 14; universal 34, 87
164  Index
Waterfield, Robin 38 their right to vote 146;
Watson, John 47, 62 standing for parliament 108
Western schools 83 workers 15, 34, 49, 106
Western society 9, 31, 110, 140, 142
Whitehead, Alfred North 13 Yolton, Jean 45, 48, 61–2
Williams, David Lay 87, 141 Yolton, John 45, 48
women 13, 20, 33, 35–6, 67, 70, 100,
107–8, 120, 124, 146; and protecting Zakaria, Fareed 17