In

I search
rc off an
a African
fr ca philosophy
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M. B. Ramose
os
Department of Political Sciences and Philosophy, University of South Africa, South Africa
[email protected]

ABSTRACT
S RACT
The Higgs Parker debate on the meaning and place of African philosophy in the
construction of a new South African philosophy of education raises more questions
than answers. In an attempt to answer some of the questions raised the present
author also raises fresh questions. One of the arguments advanced by the present
author is that both Higgs and Parker appear to take the meaning of key terms such
as Africa, philosophy, African Renaissance for granted. An analysis of the meaning
of the key terms brings to the fore fundamental questions of justice. These must be
answered adequately and satisfactorily. The thesis defended in this article is that it is
only through an in depth and critical historico philosophical analysis of the current
constitution of South Africa that the question whether or not a truly South African
philosophy of education may be constructed can be answered. An adequate
answer must show that veritable curriculum change at all levels of education,
especially higher education, has been effected.

INTRODUCTION
IN DU IO
Philip Higgs' article, `African philosophy and the transformation of educational
discourse in South Africa', (Higgs 2003) has attracted a response from Ben Parker
(Parker 2003) Back to the chain gang, some difficulties in developing a (South)
African philosophy of education. It would seem to be no coincidence that both
articles appear at the same time in the same Journal. Perhaps the purpose is to
introduce debate on the question of the desirability, or even strongly, the necessity
for a South African philosophy of education with particular reference to the
question of the place and significance of African philosophy in a South African
philosophy of education. This is hardly surprising because for at least three
centuries since the conquest of the indigenous peoples in the unjust wars of
colonisation the education curriculum in South Africa did not include African
philosophy. For the colonial conqueror and the successors in title thereto the
indigenous conquered peoples had neither an epistemology nor a philosophy worth
including in any educational curriculum. The so-called civilising and christianising
mission of the conqueror was predicated on a premise entailing the false necessity
that precluded the need to consider the inclusion of African philosophy in the
educational curriculum (Ramose 2002a, 5±6). Indeed the colonial conqueror's so-
called right of conquest exercised with callous inhumanity towards the indigenous
conquered peoples ensured that the educational curriculum in the country would be

138 # Unisa Press SAJHE 18 (3) 2004 pp. 138 160

 In search of an African philosophy of education

dominated by the epistemology and the philosophy of the conqueror. However,

because of the change in the political dispensation inaugurated since 27 April 1994
both the epistemology and the philosophy of the indigenous conquered peoples
may neither be ignored nor regarded as a casual footnote in the construction of the
educational curriculum of South Africa. Much more literally than metaphorically,
educational institutions in South Africa, especially higher education, discovered
Africa in 1994. No doubt, the philosophy and epistemology of the conqueror
continues to dominate at the theoretical and practical levels of life in South Africa
despite the change in the political dispensation. For example, the meaning of
`research' in theory and practice is to a very large extent defined and determined
by the successors in title to colonial conquest. It is precisely this undeserved
dominance that must now be challenged in order to achieve a balanced, genuinely
representative and truly South African philosophy of education visible and
practised at all educational levels including higher education. Accordingly, the
discussion between Higgs and Parker must be situated in the broad context of the
imperative of transformation in general and, in particular the transformation of the
education paradigm in the country.
The purpose of the present writer is multiple. It is to consider Parker's response
to Higgs in the light of Higgs' article. It is also to express our view on specific
issues that will be raised with each one of them, or, both taken together, for
example, the fact that they appear to take the meaning of the term `African' for
granted. Furthermore, our views on the specific issues raised with the individual
writers will form the basis for our thesis that in view of the history of the
colonisation of South Africa, it is an ethical and an educational necessity to have a
South African philosophy of education in which the philosophy and the
epistemology of the indigenous conquered peoples of the country is inscribed.
Without such an inscription the emerging South African philosophy of education
shall undermine its own foundation precisely because it will be founded upon the
injustice of the unwarranted exclusion of the epistemology and the philosophy of
the indigenous conquered peoples. The effect of such an exclusion will be to
perpetuate the undeserved dominance of the conqueror's philosophy of education.
The ethical imperative is to construct a philosophy of education reflective of the
totality of the experience of all the people of South Africa. Only on this basis can
talk about South African higher education be veritable and genuine.
It is also pertinent to make a special point of the fact that the present author
enters the debate between Higgs and Parker for two reasons. One is that the subject
on hand is preeminently a question of fundamental and historical justice. Another
is that the necessity for a balanced, genuinely representative and truly South
African philosophy of education demands scientific debate. In this latter
connection it is fitting to recall Higgs' insightful view that, `Every scientific
endeavour that fails to promote and engage in dialogue, limits the contents,
exchanges, communications and interactions by which experience is steadied while
it is enlarged and enriched. The task of scientific endeavour is forever that of

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M. B. Ramose

creation, which all people share and to which all contribute. Scientific dialogue
involves an encounter among people with differing interests, perspectives and
opinions ± an encounter in which they reconsider and mutually revise opinions and
interests, both individual and common. This takes place in a context of conflicting
viewpoints, imperfect knowledge and uncertainty. Resolutions achieved are always
more or less temporary, subject to reconsideration and rarely unanimous. What
matters is not unanimity or consensus but dialogue' (Higgs 1991, 197). The
present writer takes the necessity for dialogue seriously. Unlike Higgs, however, he
does not consider dialogue as an end in itself but rather as a means to an end. It
does not follow from this that dialogue by itself always achieves the ends for
which it is engaged. I do hope then that my entry into the debate between Higgs
and Parker will promote scientific dialogue on the one hand and enable all those
who are aware of the debate to acquire a better understanding of one another and
contribute towards a shared South African philosophy of education.

ON
O THE
HE THESIS
H I OFO HIGGS
GGS
In science the word of another scientist is not taken for granted. It is unnecessary to
go into the many reasons why this should be so. Suffice it to state that if science is
one way to search and find the truth ± a problematical concept in its own right ±
then it may not be assumed that any and all pronouncements by scientists are by
necessity the expression of the truth. On this basis we provide our own outline of
the structure of Higgs' article instead of relying on Parker's account.
Higgs' main thesis is `the introduction of an African discourse into the
conversation surrounding the re-vision of philosophy of education in South Africa'
(Higgs 2003, 6). Higgs proffers various arguments in support of this main
argument. As per title of his article, the discussion is couched within the context of
`transformation' in South Africa. Higgs does not state what he understands by
transformation. It may well be assumed that he is referring to the necessity for
change in multiple spheres of life in South Africa following the constitutional
change inaugurated since 27 April 1994. His focus is upon the sphere of education.
Higgs starts off by giving an outline description of the discourse on philosophy
of education in South Africa. He then proceeds to give the reason why `a new
philosophical discourse in education' is necessary. According to him, the reason is
the `dismantling of apartheid and the abandoning of the system of Christian
National Education' based on Fundamental Pedagogics (FP). The reader is
requested to note that we will henceforth use the abbreviation FP to refer to
Fundamental Pedagogics despite its delicate proximity to the Inkatha Freedom
Party (IFP). While it is true that apartheid is legally dismantled it is doubtful that
both the mentality and the practice of apartheid have died with its legal dissolution.
The reason for this doubt is that apartheid was merely a special manifestation but
not a fundamental refutation of the basic epistemology and philosophy of the
colonial conqueror established since the conquest of the indigenous peoples. The

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 In search of an African philosophy of education

`democratisation' (Rantete 1998, 168±69) paradigm underlying the post-April 27

1994 political dispensation in South Africa represents, philosophically, the triumph
as well as the continued dominance of the epistemological paradigm of the colonial
conqueror. There is, therefore, reason to suggest that the system of Christian
National Education supported by FP endures beyond 27 April 1994 but under a
different complexion. It is crucial to acknowledge the distinction between FP and
Christian National Education. The former is defined as a science whereas the latter
is considered to be an ideology (Higgs 1991, 196). With this distinction in mind it
is plausible to suggest that FP has survived post-April 27 South Africa even if it
may have changed its name. In addition the surviving FP need not support
Christian National Education as it used to in the past. The point here is that since
the epistemicide committed by colonisation on the epistemologies of the
indigenous conquered peoples of South Africa, it is the epistemological paradigm
of the successors in title to colonisation which continues to dominate the entire
field of the construction and the distribution of knowledge in South Africa. Two
examples. One is that the very constitution (Act No. 108, 1996) upon which
discourse on education in South Africa must proceed is wholly the expression of
the epistemological paradigm of the successors in title to colonisation (Ramose
2002, 486±492a). Another example is Higgs' reference to the `African
Renaissance' as the position from which the African challenge to Western
cultural, scientific and economic subjugation is advanced (Higgs 2003, 6). Once
the appeal by Africans to the `African Renaissance' is problematised it becomes
clear that this is the manifestation of enslavement to the epistemological paradigm
of the successors in title to colonisation. The present writer has argued elsewhere
that `the attempt to implant the ``renaissance'' into Africa is an implicit denial of
Africa's right to choose from her experience terms and concepts that can be used to
understand and interpret African history and politics . . . one of the results of the
fixation of the African gaze to the North is that Africa thereby concedes
prominence and leadership to the North . . . African history has yielded and
continues to yield fertile experience from which to extract key analytical concepts'
(Ramose 2000, 58b). These examples show that the epistemological paradigm of
the successors in title to colonisation continues to dominate the entire field of the
construction of knowledge in South Africa. The implications of this are far
reaching since whoever holds the key to the construction of knowledge also holds
the key to power.
Having shown that the epistemological paradigm of the successors in title to
colonisation continues to dominate, we agree with Parker that the factual situation
may be described as a `neo-Fundamental Pedagogics' contending with other
philosophies. `One may well have expected the analytic discourses to increase their
influence while the FP discourses would rapidly dissipate without support from the
Apartheid regime. This reversal of influence did indeed happen but was confined,
in the main, to policy developments and, as recently as 2002, most teacher
education institutions in South Africa remained within discourses descended from

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FP ± albeit stripped of the racist and Afrikaner nationalist language and imagery
that characterized the FP' (Parker 2003, 25). Accordingly, the current education
system and policies with particular reference to the content of the educational
curriculum must be questioned in order to have a transformed curriculum in which
the African experience is inscribed.
Parker focuses his attention upon what may be construed as obstacles to the rise
and construction of `a new philosophy of education'. For us this means obstacles
to the inscription of the African experience in the construction of a post-April 27
1994 discourse on the philosophy of education in South Africa. Parker identifies
two obstacles. First, it would seem that there is `no existing discourse that provides
a suitable breeding-ground for a new philosophy of education' (Parker 2003, 26).
One wonders why what Parker refers to as the liberal democratic form of analytic
discourse together with the various strands of neo-FPs should not form a `suitable
breeding-ground for a new philosophy of education'. This puzzle will remain for
as long as Parker does not provide criteria of suitability for the construction of a
`breeding-ground for a new philosophy of education'. Second, `the institutional
base of philosophy of education has undergone such radical restructuring that the
philosophers of education are more concerned about survival than becoming
activists for a new discourse' (Parker 2003, 26). It is unclear if Parker is referring
to all philosophers of education or only to some of them. The point though is that it
is unlikely that Parker's claim is true in the sense that it is empirically valid for all
philosophers of education. It seems best therefore to construe Parker's claim as a
general observation signaling the necessity to take the construction of a novel
philosophy of education seriously. According to this interpretation there is great
merit in Higgs' thesis pleading `for the introduction of an African discourse into
the conversation surrounding the re-vision of philosophy of education in South
Africa' (Higgs 2003, 6).
If the `conversation' referred to by Higgs is synonymous with `discourse on
philosophy of education' then Higgs appears to be arguing for two specific points
about this `discourse'. One is that it should include the African epistemology and
philosophy. This is the plea for the expansion and deepening of the discourse.
Another is that the ensuing discourse must be a `re-vision' than simply a revision.
This is the plea for the construction of a novel educational paradigm whose novelty
shall consist, among others, in the inscription of the African educational paradigm.
The effect of such an inscription will be the emergence of a new South African
philosophy of education qualitatively and quantitatively different from the old one
dominated by the epistemological paradigm of the colonial conqueror. Construed
in this manner, Higgs' argument for the `re-vision of philosophy of education in
South Africa' cannot mean, as Parker mistakes it to mean, that `Higgs wants to
bring about a radical change in philosophy of education by dispensing with
analytic and FP discourses and adopting an African educational discourse' (Parker
2003, 26). We understand Higgs to be pleading for a dialogical encounter among
all the existing epistemological paradigms in South Africa. Nowhere does Higgs

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argue for the primacy of `an African educational discourse' over all the others. Nor
does he argue for the exclusion of all other discourses towards `the re-vision of
philosophy of education in South Africa'. For Higgs the outcome of the dialogical
encounter among all the existing philosophies of education in the country should
be a genuine South African philosophy of education with which all South Africans
can identify. We now turn to specific themes and arguments of Higgs in support of
his thesis. Before we do so it is apposite to consider the methodological criticism
raised by Parker against Higgs.

A QUESTION
UE N OF
O METHOD
H
According to Parker, `these arguments . . . (are) wanting primarily on the grounds
that the account provided by Higgs is ahistorical and decontextualised. (Higgs
uses) a methodological approach that uses typologies to describe discourses . . .
but Higgs uses it only at a conceptual ``level'' and does not explore the power
relations operating within and between the different discourses . . . This typology is
too brief to be helpful, at least in part because it is not ``mapped onto'' a social
reality: there is a lack of reference to people, institutions and texts, to their histories
and to their relations to political and economic contexts' (Parker 2003, 24). Parker
renders the sustainability of this claim even more problematical by his admission
that Higgs advocates `an activism' by African philosophers in the struggle to
determine the `destiny of Africans'. It is in the nature of such a struggle to be based
upon power relations. It may well be that Higgs has not expressly `explored power
relations' by giving the background history to the necessity for `an activism' which
he advocates on the part of African philosophers. This omission in itself does not
preclude the inference that Higgs considered that his advocacy would make sense
only if the background history pertaining to `power relations' were assumed. It is
not clear if Parker had taken this into account in the averment that Higgs'
methodological approach `does not explore power relations operating within and
between different discourses'. If Parker indeed disregarded this assumption then it
is still necessary that he explains the significance of his own claim that `For Higgs,
there must be a strong focus on the ``African predicament'' ± calling into question
relations of power and addressing issues of poverty and violence' (Parker 2003,
28). Furthermore, it is somewhat curious that Parker does not seem to acknowledge
that concepts ± the `conceptual level' ± are meaningful only if they are linked to
experience. Concepts without experience are blind and experience without
concepts is empty. If this is correct then the `conceptual level' does not by
definition necessarily exclude the exploration of `power relations'. It is apparent
then that Parker's argument is unsustainable.

AFRICAN
F CAN PHILOSOPHY
P L S P
For Higgs African philosophy comprises of both the `spoken tradition and body of

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M. B. Ramose

literature'. Here the meaning of the `spoken tradition' appears to be taken for
granted. The important question for us is whether or not the `spoken tradition',
taken to be synonymous with oral tradition, has any scientific status at all. The
point of this question is twofold. One is to determine if the spoken word or orality
is sufficient to qualify as philosophy. African and non-African thinkers have
argued that only the written text qualifies for the title philosophy. This position
emphasises the separation between speech and writing. At the same time it accords
primacy to writing and confers upon it the status of an absolute in determining the
meaning of philosophy. Some thinkers have subsequently abandoned this position
after recalling, for example, that Socrates qualified as a philosopher without having
written any philosophy. Scholars like Vansina have argued persuasively that oral
tradition merits the qualification `science' (Vansina 1973). In defence of oral
tradition as a way of philosophising and thus as philosophy, Oluwole demonstrated
this by reference to the Yoruba Ifa corpus. Her defence of oral tradition is
predicated on the argument that humans are free to choose their modality and style
of reasoning and interpreting their experience. The chosen style and modality do
not have an automatic universal validity and application. At the same time many
African scholars tend to make `the error of adopting Western principles of thought
for the purpose of establishing the existence of an African intellectual tradition . . .
They forget that every human society develops, for its own use, different ways of
coping with experience and nature. The strengths and weaknesses of each tradition
must be determined within its own precepts and historicity' (Oluwole 1999, 81 and
62). In this way Oluwole is calling indirectly for the recognition of an
anthropology of philosophies (Kresse 2002, 36). Furthermore, the rigid separation
between the spoken word and writing becomes tenuous once it is understood that
writing is meaningless without acknowledging the anteriority of the spoken word,
or, more precisely of language as the manifestation of thought. Writing is the
utilisation of any sign in order to convey thought expressed through action and the
spoken word or language (Johnson 1983, 199). On this understanding, no
particular sign has an exclusive or absolute claim to writing. The fundamental
point is that all writing, that is, the sign used by the signifier, is ultimately the
representation of thought. In this sense writing is like the spoken word or language
since the many languages that exist do not have the same sounds yet each one is
capable of grasping, interpreting and communicating its experience. According to
this Derridan understanding of writing and speech ± evidently inspired by
Aristotle's De Interpretatione ± the rigid separation between speech and writing is
more apparent than real (Derrida 1997, 11). Subjected to philosophical analysis,
the separation virtually dissipates and becomes a secondary issue (Kimmerle 1998,
152±53) (Kimmerle 1997, 54).
The second point pertaining to our question is that the claim that Africa neither
had nor knew `writing' is questionable. In this connection Van Sertima argues that:
`Most of us have heard of the Meroitic script invented by the Nubians and partly
influenced by the Egyptians. But what is far less known and far more important is

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the discovery, announced four years ago, that the origin of the Egyptian
hieroglyphic system itself lies among black people in the Sudan . . . Most
important, the excavators found inscriptions ± the earliest in the hieroglyphic
system ± in the tombs of Qustul, a system that was not only to be the mother of the
Egyptian but was to have a seminal effect upon some European writing systems as
well . . . There were also ancient writing systems in the Saharan and Sudanic
cultures ± the Manding and the Akan, to mention two that have been the subject of
recent discussion and debate . . . The symbols in more than one African script have
been found preserved in objects more durable than paper' (Van Sertima 1983, 24±
25). It is in the light of this debate concerning the history of writing in Africa that
Van Sertima draws the conclusion that: `we know Africa only in vague outline.
The lineaments of a lost science are now emerging and we can glimpse some of the
once-buried reefs of this remarkable civilization. A lot more remains to be
revealed. But enough has been found in the past few years to make it quite clear
that the finest heart of the African world receded into the shadow while its broken
bones were put on spectacular display' (Van Sertima 1983, 26).
In spite of the above arguments there are still scholars who continue to hold that
the spoken word can never attain the status of philosophy. Such adherence is
clearly a question of power relations and, not the question of `science'. The
question of power relations is also a crucial factor even with regard to the
definition of philosophy (Outlaw 1987, 10±11). Aware of the contending
definitions of philosophy, we define philosophy as the love of wisdom manifesting
itself as reason rigorously critical of the wholeness (Bohm 1980, 30) of the
unfolding human experience. This manifestation of reason may be predominant
either as oral tradition on the one hand or codified and formally institutionalised as
the written word specific to a particular field of learning on the other. Against this
background we accept Higgs' definition of philosophy as both the `spoken
tradition and body of literature'. But what about the term `African'?
Both Higgs and Parker appear to take the meaning of the term Africa(n) for
granted. This gives the impression that the meaning is quite settled and accepted. It
is indeed the case that this is to a very large extent true. However, it is equally true
that the meaning is contested even in South Africa. In some cases the contest is
implicit. For example, the desire to rename South Africa Azania is expressive of
the intention to discard the term Africa. In other cases the contest is quite explicit
as in the debate ± epitomised by `Mokoko The Makgoba Affair' (Makgoba 1997)
± around the Africanisation of South African universities. The meaning of the term
Africa is indeed contestable on at least two grounds. One is that the name Africa is
not conferred by the indigenous peoples of Africa upon themselves. Another is that
it does not by definition refer to the particular histories of the indigenous peoples
inhabiting various parts of the continent from time immemorial. In other words, the
term is geographically significant but historically, its meaning is questionable from
the point of view of the indigenous African peoples (Ramose 2003, 114±16c). In
his reflections upon the origin and meaning of the term Africa Mazrui notes that it

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M. B. Ramose

may be traced to the Berber or the Greco-Roman ancestry. `But although the name
Africa may have originally been either Semitic or Greco-Roman, the application of
the name in more recent centuries has been due almost entirely to western Europe
. . . We should question Europe's decisions about boundaries of Africa and the
identity of Africans . . . We have to accept the continental definition as presently
defined internationally. But I personally regard the present boundaries of Africa as
not only arbitrary but artificially conceived by European geographers in a former
era of European dominance. For the purpose of this book I accept the Red Sea as
one of Africa's boundaries ± but I do so decidedly under protest' (Mazrui 1986, 25,
29 and 38). One wonders why `we have to accept the continental definition as
presently defined internationally'. Surely, even international politics is subject to
change arising from motion as the principle of be-ing. There is, therefore, no pre-
established, eternal and immutable reason why the name Africa should never be
erased from the geographical vocabulary. For as long as the name remains in use it
is best to recognise that others accept its retention `under protest'. The present
writer belongs to this category. It is in the light of these considerations and those
contained in the preceding paragraph that the present writer accepts the composite
term, African philosophy.

THE
T `AFRICAN
R N RENAISSANCE'
ENAIS AN E
In paragraph six above we have referred to some of the objections of the present
writer to the use of the expression, `African Renaissance'. The crux of the
objection is that the marriage between the two terms, particularly if the capital
letter `r' is used for the term Renaissance, is historically problematical,
politically unsustainable and philosophically questionable. Higgs' explanation of
the expression in the sphere of the educational discourse reveals, perhaps
inadvertently on his part, that the insight and the intention of the current `African
Renaissance' are by no means new in the history of Africa's struggle for
authentic liberation. For example, some of the authors he refers to predate
President Thabo Mbeki's reappropriation of the expression. Our point then is that
even without the recovery of the expression by the President the totality of the
prevailing conditions in Africa echo the insight and intention of the African
renaissance or regeneration expressed long ago by many African as well as
African-American thinkers. The importance of this echo for us lies in the implicit
question that it raises, namely; why is it that the history of Africa seems to be at a
standstill if one considers that despite the changed and changing conditions the
insight that Africa is yet to realise the intention to be authentically liberated
remains constant? Why is it that after so many widespread rumours of African
`independence', Africa is not engaged, for example, in discourse on the
consolidation and the defence of her authentic liberation? It goes without saying
that our emphasis is on authentic liberation (Ramose 2002d, 33±39).
Accordingly, we call into question, for example, the defective sovereignty

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conferred upon Africa at so-called independence; the immorality, the illegality as

well as the politically unsustainable imposition of the foreign debt burden ±
economic enslavement ± upon Africa at so-called independence. Today, poverty
and, in order to make a fine point of it, material poverty, is identified as one of
the pressing problems of Africa. Yet, poverty is not natural with respect to Africa
or any other part of our common planet Earth. It follows then that the roots of
poverty in contemporary Africa lie deep in the history of the continent especially
since the unjust wars of colonisation. Poverty then is by definition historical. It is
not natural. In its present historical moment poverty is structural, systemic and
conventional. Accordingly, `involvement with the poor must go beyond good-
heartedness and social work. It must now become denunciation and battle. For it
is the social order that is unjust' (Gutierrez 1983, 153). Accordingly, material
poverty is fundamentally an ethical issue; a question of justice and, in particular,
restorative, restitutive and distributive justice. For us this line of inquiry makes
the expression `African Renaissance' thoroughly unattractive. Instead, it is the
depiction of Africa shy and timid to recognise, reaffirm and protect her right to
life (Ramcharan 1983, 297±329) and identity in the pursuit of her right to self-
determination within the context of her complex relations with other humans in
our common habitat planet Earth. It is in the light of these considerations that we
accept Higgs' interpretation (Higgs 2003, 6±8) of the `African Renaissance'
provided the small letter and, not, the capital letter `r' is used. It is pertinent to
add the following to Higgs' explanation of the African renaissance with
particular reference to African universities. It is the requirement for `an
unwavering commitment to the creation and maintenance of the conditions for
free inquiry and creativity in African Universities. Meeting this requirement
entails the strengthening of our universities not simply to enable them to keep up
with the wealth of knowledge generated elsewhere or ``adapt it to local needs and
conditions'' but more importantly, to enhance their capacity for the generation of
ideas and making of discoveries . . . our universities should be free to determine
what they teach and how they teach them. They also need to be free to determine
their own research agenda. Generally, our universities should be empowered to
be true to themselves not only as generators and disseminators of knowledge, but
also as the conscience of society' (Oladipo 1999, 13).
Our critique of the `African Renaissance' makes it plain that Africa must shed
her tragic shyness and apparent timidity. She must reaffirm her right to life. She
must be proud of her identity and defend it in the pursuit of her right to self-
determination. She must acknowledge that from the well of her own experience
she may construct concepts that will help her understand and interpret her history
and politics. By way of response to this liberational imperative during the Mokoko-
Hungwe period rather than the `African Renaissance', we now turn to consider the
significance for a South African philosophy of education and research of specific
concepts of indigenous African philosophy identified by both Higgs and Parker.

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M. B. Ramose

BETWEEN
BET E CONCEPTS
N P S AND
N VALUES:
VALU : UBUNTU,
U N HUMANISM
U A IS AND
N
COMMUNALISM
C M N IS
It is pertinent to note that Parker goes beyond just showing what he considers to be
the flaws of Higgs' arguments. He uses `Higgs' description as a launching pad, [to]
explore a particular strand of African philosophy that is becoming increasingly
influential internationally: Africana philosophy. In the final section, I link this
discussion of African philosophy back to South African teacher education (Parker
2003, 24). We will not pursue the merits or otherwise of Parker's exploration of
Africana philosophy. Suffice it to state that Africana is evidently a variation of
African. One would expect that the variation would be justified either as a
significant departure from the existing professional African philosophy or as a
qualitatively distinct addition to the same. The present writer cannot find, from
Parker's exposition, justification for the variation either way. Consequently, we
will not address this `strand of African philosophy'. Instead, we propose to focus
attention on three concepts of indigenous African philosophy identified by both
Higgs and Parker, namely, communalism, ubuntu and humanism (Higgs 2003, 12
and Parker 2003, 28). Higgs relies on African authors, especially Letseka with
particular reference to ubuntu, in his exposition of these concepts. It is curious that
Higgs appears to accept Letseka's interchangeable use of humanness and
humanism with reference to ubuntu as if the two terms are synonyms. Surely,
humanism in Western Europe, associated, for example, with Pico della Mirandola,
(Elders 1993, 36; Binkhorst 1996, 17) is not by definition the same as the famous
`African humanism' propounded by Kenneth Kaunda. Under the rubric `The
philosophy of ubuntu, humanness and community' below we consider the question
of the distinction between `humanism' and `humanness' in relation to ubuntu.
Higgs presents the three concepts referred to as distinctive (Higgs 2003, 14) of
indigenous African philosophy. Under the rubric `General themes in African
philosophy' as well as `African knowledge and educational discourse' Higgs refers
expressly and consistently to ubuntu as a `notion'. Nowhere under these rubrics,
or, anywhere else in his entire essay did we find Higgs expressly referring to or
deliberately interpreting `ubuntu' as a value; in particular, an ethical value. It is
surprising, therefore, that Parker imputes upon Higgs an understanding and
interpretation of ubuntu, communalism and humanism as `values'. `Higgs bases
this activism on three overlapping values that he claims are common all discourses
of African philosophy: communality, ubuntu and humanism. Higgs gives some
substance to these values' (Parker 2003, 28). Despite this rather odd ascription to
Higgs of a claim that Higgs never made, Parker ventures even further to argue that
the `distinctiveness' of indigenous African `values' is in doubt. `Higgs' difficulties
demonstrate the complexity of defining African values in ways that are distinct
from European values . . . The difficulty that arises immediately is that many
people and societies that would regard themselves as non-African would embrace
these values. Many non-African constitutions are based on these values. So, what

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 In search of an African philosophy of education

makes values distinctively African?' (Parker 2003, 29) One of the problems with
Parker's argument is that he appears to assume that the meaning of the concept
`values' is settled and unproblematical. Yet, a reflection on whether or not the term
refers to the economy, commerce or ethics and retains the same meaning in all
instances would make it plain that the meaning of the concept should not be taken
for granted. Furthermore, it is appropriate to dismiss Parker's imputation together
with the argument linked thereto as a misunderstanding and misinterpretation of
Higgs. To do so and let the matter rest at that would be to miss an opportunity to
proffer a philosophical understanding of ubuntu; to explicate its relationship with
`humanism' and `communalism' and, to discuss their significance in the
construction of a new South African philosophy of education as well as their
implications for research. We propose to make use of this opportunity by way of a
philosophical discussion of these three concepts of indigenous African philosophy.

THE PHILOSOPHY
P L S P OF
O UBUNTU,
BU U, HUMANENESS
E E AND COMMUNITY
O U IT
It is best, philosophically, to approach the term ubuntu as an hyphenated word,
namely, ubu-ntu. Thus conceived, ubuntu consists of the prefix ubu- and the stem
ntu. Ubu- evokes the idea of be-ing in general. It is enfolded be-ing before it
manifests itself in the concrete form or mode of ex-istence of a particular entity.
Ubu- as enfolded be-ing is always oriented towards unfoldment, that is, incessant
continual concrete manifestation through particular forms and modes of being. In
this sense ubu- is always oriented towards ntu. At the ontological level, there is no
strict and literal separation and division between ubu- and ntu. The prefix and the
stem together found each other. In this sense ubuntu as one word is the expression
of be-ing as a one-ness; an indivisible whole-ness. Ubuntu is inconceivable
without another word with which it is linked indissolubly. This word is umu-ntu.
The logic of umu-ntu is precisely the same as that of ubu-ntu. First both words
consist of a prefix and a stem. Ubu- and umu- are expressive of a generalised or
abstract understanding of be-ing. The `b' between the two `u's' is different from
the `m' between the two `u's' is so far as each refers to a specific category of be-
ing in the general or abstract sense. It is only when each is connected to ntu that its
full meaning becomes apparent. Thus umuntu is abstract and concrete at the same
time in the sense that it refers to the general idea of a human be-ing and also to a
specific concrete human being. Ubuntu is also abstract and concrete at the same
time. As an abstract concept it is both descriptive and prescriptive of human-ness.
The concrete conditions of daily life show whether or not umuntu is living
according to the description and prescription ubuntu ± human-ness. From this point
of view there is mutual foundedness; an indissoluble link between umuntu and
ubuntu. The link is between ontology ± umuntu ± and epistemology and ethics
ubuntu. In this sense ubuntu is an ontological and epistemologico-ethical concept.
Ontologically and epistemologically, Ubuntu is a concept. In its ethical character
ubuntu is a value. It is a demand that umuntu ought to be ethical. However, it does

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M. B. Ramose

not prescribe in advance immutable and eternal ethical values. On the contrary, it
leaves umuntu free to fill in the empty (general or abstract) ethical obligation to do
good and avoid evil with values derived from the concrete situation of everyday
life.
The logic of umuntu and ubuntu shows that be-ing is always an indivisible one-
ness and whole-ness. As the concrete manifestation of be-ing, umuntu may be
construed as the temporarily having become. Ubuntu is accordingly a -ness and not
an -ism. It may not be rendered as `human-ism' as Samkange, (Samkange 1980, 1)
Letseka (Letseka 200, 188) and Hoppers (Hoppers 2000, 1) have done. The -ism
suffix gives the erroneous impression that we are dealing with verbs and nouns as
fixed and separate entities existing independently. The -ism emphasises fixation to
ideas and practices which are somewhat dogmatic and hence unchangeable. Such
dogmatism and immutability constitute the false necessity based on fragmentative
thinking. This is contrary to the logic of ubuntu, that is, the logic that accords
primacy to -ness. Consonant with this logic we prefer humanness to `humanism' as
the proper philosophical understanding and translation of ubuntu into English. This
same preference applies to `communalism'. Humanness is the ontological
condition of be-ing a human being whereas humaneness is the ethical dimension
of humanness. Humaneness is to be practiced in community life. `Communalism'
is not preferred because it is inconsistent with the logic of umuntu and ubuntu as
-ness and, also, because it accords primacy to the community thereby obscuring
the ethical primacy of humaneness.
The above understanding of ubuntu shows that it does have a universal thrust.
This appears to be a common feature of all ethical values; they purport to be valid
for all human beings in all the specific situations to which they are intended to
apply. Few would quarrel with this claim to the universal validity and application
of ethical values provided the ethical values in question are empty, that is, they are
general and abstract (Westen 1982, 543). Contention and discord arise as soon as
the emptiness of values is filled in with meaning and content derived from concrete
situations. This underscores the insight that universality is always with a
difference. It is another way of recognising the importance of the distinction
between abstract and concrete universality in general and, with particular reference
to ethical issues (Gould 1976, 26±27). We suggest that Parker's argument, crowned
by the question, `So, what makes values distinctively African?' is actually a failure
to recognise and appreciate the distinction between abstract and concrete
universality. Considering that Parker's criticism of Higgs' account is that it `is
ahistorical and decontextualised', it is somewhat surprising that Parker should
become the willing victim of his own criticism by failing to recognise and
appreciate the distinction between abstract and concrete universality. The fact that
there are `fierce contestations over interpretations of these values within African
philosophy' should have alerted him to the crucial importance of history and
context as decisive in the construction of meaning. A critical sensitivity to the
distinction between abstract and concrete universality could have assisted Parker in

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avoiding the error of imputing the same history and context and, therefore,
attributing an identical meaning to ``ubuntu'' from the point of view of European,
Chinese and Indian philosophies. This he does through the claim that: `Although
designated by an African word ``ubuntu'', the notion that we are human through
our relations with other humans, that our individual identity is embedded in social
relations within the fabrics of communities, has a long history in European,
Chinese and Indian philosophy' (Parker 2003, 29±30). With his gaze fixed
unswervingly upon abstract universality, Parker denies the distinctiveness of
`African values' and concludes that `It would seem, then, that Higgs has not
provided a convincing account . . . he has not indicated how this new discourse
will develop an institutional base under hostile conditions, nor, . . . has he
demonstrated that the three values provide a definition of what it means to be
``African''' (Parker 2003, 30). It is pertinent to question Parker's denial of the
distinctiveness of African values and to consider whether or not his conclusion is
valid. To this we now turn.

IN
N SEARCH
S RCH OFF THE
T DISTINCTIVENESS
T N I E E OFF AFRICAN
R N VALUES:
V LUE A CRITIQUE
T U
OF PARKER
P E
If one recalls, as already stated above, that Parker omitted to consider the
meaning of the term `African', then it is not surprising that he questions the
`distinctiveness' of that which is `African'. Beneath the demand for `distinc-
tiveness' lies Parker's implicit endorsement of essentialism. Put rather simply,
essentialism means, philosophically, adherence and commitment to the idea that
there are beings and values which are immutable and eternal. It is the
presupposition of immutability and eternity which forms the basis for the claim
that certain values are universal. In its strong form the claim crystallises into
universalism. In its strong or weak form universalism claims that there are certain
values which are valid for all time and thus apply to all human conditions
regardless of the specific history and context of the human condition. This
understanding of universalism is consistent with what we have defined above as
abstract universality. Significantly, Parker's question, `so, what makes values
distinctively African?', appears in a paragraph in which `human rights' are
mentioned. It is common cause that `human rights' as `values' are widely
regarded as `universal'. Indeed, the United Nations Organisation's Declaration
on `human rights' is explicit on their universality. What the present author finds
somewhat curious is the silence of the Declaration on the fate of `natural rights',
`individual rights' and the `rights of man' (Weston 1984, 257±58). Have the
human beings to whom the lexicon of `rights' has referred throughout the
centuries undergone such radical biological mutation that those to whom the
vocabulary of `human rights' refers today are qualitatively different from their
predecessors? Was the `rights of man' the inadvertent precursor of women's
rights? We wish to make the following points with regard to this line of

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M. B. Ramose

questioning. One is that even within the context of the United Nations
Organisation the evolution of `human rights' pertains to the history of a
particular peoples in a specific context. Moreover, the protection of `human
rights' within this history tends to proceed primarily on the basis of pragmatism
rather than principle. A normative basis for condemning or assessing `human
rights' violations is often muted or obscured (Alston 1992, 1±14). After making
the pertinent suggestion that `one must distinguish rather between ethically
justified use of human rights discourse which is at one and the same time
political in nature, and a use of human rights discourse, perhaps veiled in ethical
terms, for ethically unjustified political ends' (McKeever 2000, 112). the same
author considers the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights and
makes an observation similar to that of Alston's; `Read in normative perspective,
however, it proves remarkably scant and vague in content' (McKeever 2000,
117). The history and context specificity of `human rights' attenuates their claim
to universality to the extent that abstract universality purports to preclude, per
definition, concrete universality. Another point we want to make is that values do
change over time. Accordingly, Parker's demand for the `distinctiveness' of
African values reflects the failure to take seriously into account the distinction
between abstract and concrete universality. The demand for the `distinctiveness'
of African values ± with particular reference to `human rights', for example ±
should proceed from the historical premise that: `It should also be considered that
the idea of the universality of human rights is rooted in the European tradition.
Therefore, we must face the objection that the idea of the universality of human
rights is logically a Western idea, which is being imposed upon other countries.
The reluctance of many African countries to accept European human rights
standards is quite logical, in view of the fact that the former colonial powers have
always refrained from applying human rights standards which were part of their
own constitutions to African people. In that way, the European powers way
denied the universality of human rights that they now so frequently proclaim'
(Scholze 1992, 57). One wonders what Parker would think about the title, let
alone the content, of `The African Charter on Human and Peoples' Rights' and,
the same goes for Kwame Gyekye's `African Cultural Values' (Gyekye 1998).
Furthermore, the essentialism underlying Parker's demand for `distinctiveness' is
tantamount to the denial that values may change. Is it the case that lurking behind
this demand for the `distinctiveness' of indigenous African values is the
adherence to the view that whatever is `European' is by definition the only and
truly human and thus superior to every and any other human identity and
endeavour in our planet Earth? In the light of these considerations we conclude
that Parker's denial of the `distinctiveness' of indigenous African values is
unsustainable. The distinctiveness of indigenous African values is simulta-
neously the affirmation of concrete universality and the confirmation of abstract
universality. We now turn to consider the philosophy of education based on the
ontologico-ethical concept of ubuntu.

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 In search of an African philosophy of education

TOWARDS
O DS A NEW
EW SOUTH
O H AFRICAN
F CAN PHILOSOPHY
P L S P OF
O EDUCATION
DUCAT
In his journey `to go where Higgs did not go in his exploration of African
philosophy' (Parker 2003, 30). Parker gives a brief exposition of `Africana'
philosophy. We have already given reasons why we will not join Parker along this
journey. Of particular interest for us in this connection is the fact that Parker
presents More as one example of `Africana' philosophy in South Africa. It appears
that Parker is struck particularly by `More's discussion of the tension between
universalism and particularism in the South African constitution expressed most
clearly in the preamble as ``united in our diversity''' (Parker 2003, 30). Parker
refers to More's essay published in 1998. The substance, quality and reasoning of
this essay ± as distinct from additional information and change in terminology ±
are the same as those reflected in More's essay published three years earlier under
the title: `universalism and particularism in South Africa' (More 1995, 34±51). For
example, More writes in the earlier essay, `Illustrative of universalistic non-
racialism as it operates in South Africa, is the Freedom Charter spearheaded by the
ANC. Universalist vision determines the very substance of the Charter: ``We, the
people of South Africa, declare for all our country and world to know: that South
Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and white, and that no government can
justly claim authority unless it is based on the will of all the people'' whereas in the
later essay he writes, `Reminiscent of the Freedom Charter of 1955, the Preamble
of the newly-promulgated Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, in
accordance with ``rainbowism'' and a political and social philosophy similar to the
one articulated by Outlaw, states: We, the people of South Africa . . . believe that
South Africa belongs to all who live in it, united in our diversity'. By way of reply
to More's earlier essay Rajmund Ohly observed that `More's paper makes
excellent reading. Unfortunately, the author's reasoning ignores several elements
without which the South African conflicts resolve themselves into mere political
struggle with contrastive ideological underpinning. In More's exposition of the
South African Case, history, that is the diachronic approach, seems to be rather
irrelevant' (Ohly 1995, 54).
Ohly's observation on More's essay makes Parker's reliance on More's later
essay rather problematical. First, Parker's criticism of Higgs' argument as
`ahistorical' raised our expectation that he would detect the same weakness in
More's discussion. Let us turn to give some substance to this. The examples we
have quoted from More's essays leave no doubt that he is referring to the Freedom
Charter of 1955. More is careful and, correctly so, not to attribute this document
solely to the ANC through the term `spearheaded'. In this respect his historical
sensitivity is admirable. Unfortunately, this is not sustained. Nor is it supported by
critical politico-philosophical reasoning. Surely, the claim that `South Africa
belongs to all who live in it' is historically and politically problematical. It
overlooks the vital and vexed question of the veracity and validity of the dominant
paradigm of South African historiography. It denies and obscures the question of

153
M. B. Ramose

title to territory and sovereignty over the geographic area known as South Africa
today. It places into sharp relief these questions by limiting the meaning of `all' to
`black and white' precisely at the very moment when other population groups like
the Coloureds and Indians were also living in South Africa. This particular error of
fact is rectified in the Preamble of Act No. 108 of 1996 simply by positing `all' and
refraining from specifics. But the rectification returns the same problem through
the backdoor precisely in the same refraining sentence containing the claim;
`united in our diversity'. The problem with this claim is that it does not address at
least three fundamental questions, namely, (i) what is the identity of the people
who claim to be united? (ii) what exactly is it that unites the people and, how and
when was the unity achieved? (iii) what is the content and character of this
`diversity' and, what does it mean to the different peoples of South Africa? A close
look at the history of South Africa especially since the unjust wars of colonisation
makes it plain that Parker's reliance on More's discussion of the tension between
universalism (rainbowism) and particularism in South Africa problematical.
The fact that both Parker and More find it apposite to focus on Act No. 108 of
1996 is indeed welcome. However, the problem is that none of them pauses to
consider whether or not this Act is indeed the reflection of the history and moral
convictions of the peoples who are to be governed by this Act. It is somewhat
curious that More does not comment on the use of the capital letter `c' with regard
to Act No. 108 of 1996. We find a comment on this point imperative because this
usage was applicable to the Union (Harris & Others v Minister of the Interior and
Another 1952 (2) SA 461 (A)) and the 1961 (van Themaat and Wiechers 1967,
249) constitutions but was not adhered to in the 1983 constitution (Booysen & van
Wyk 1984, 20). Did the term `constitution' bear the same technical legal meaning
regardless of the use of the small or capital letter `c'? None of these constitutions
was truly representative of all the peoples of South Africa. Philosophically, the
same is true of Act No. 108 of 1996 to the extent that it is the apotheosis of the
epistemological paradigm of the successors in title to the questionable `right of
conquest'. Politically, it is ± in terms of its timing ± a victory for the same
successors in title to the questionable `right of conquest'. These remarks underpin
three points made by Parker. (1) That it is always necessary to be sensitive to
history in the presentation of an argument. (2) That sensitivity to history can
illuminate the dynamics of power relations. (3) That philosophical analysis must
form an integral part of the presentation of history and the study of power relations.
`The discourse of an Africana philosophy of education has to develop through
addressing philosophical questions that arise in our context' (Parker 2003, 37). In
our view, this must be the starting point for the construction of a new South
African philosophy of education. We now turn to illustrate this by reference to the
fact that `ubuntu' is excluded from Act No. 108 of 1996 whereas it appeared in the
interim constitution of 1993.
The exclusion of ubuntu from Act No. 108 of 1996 is significant for the
following reasons. In the context of Western democratic politics numbers a crucial

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in relation to elections. The struggle among and between political parties is the
struggle for numbers as the gateway to political power. On this reasoning, it is
necessary to recognise that those who subscribe and live according to the
philosophy of ubuntu may provide crucial numerical support in the struggle for
numbers. Political wisdom therefore dictates that ubuntu philosophy adherents
should be treated with care and respect. Excluding ubuntu from Act No. 108 is a
far cry from this dictate of political wisdom. Secondly, the exclusion of ubuntu is
philosophically significant. It represents the denial of the epistemological paradigm
that ubuntu stands for. As such it is the rejection of the totality of the culture that is
built on the philosophy of ubuntu. Accordingly, the political philosophy and the
ethics of ubuntu ± to name but a few aspects ± are not represented in Act No. 108.
For example, it is arguable that ubuntu political philosophy would prefer selective
consensual democracy to the Western elective adversarial democracy. Similarly, it
is arguable that contrary to section 25 of Act No. 108, ubuntu ethics would have
defined the right to private property differently. In this connection, ubuntu legal
reasoning would not endorse, at the expense of natural and historical justice, the
legal presumption that the legislator does not intend to disturb or destroy existing
rights unless it is necessary (Styen 1981, 97). On the contrary, ubuntu law would
pursue the aim of maintaining and restoring (Driberg 1934, 231) natural justice
precisely by rejecting the historical injustice of the `right of conquest'. Taking into
account the exigency of historical justice, ubuntu ethics would have gone beyond
the recognition of `land reform' as stipulated in subsection (4)(a) nor would
entitlement to property be restricted to `restitution' and `equitable redress' as
stipulated in subsection (7). In the name of historical justice ± referred to with
somewhat cunning nebulosity in subsection (7) as `past racially discriminatory
laws or practices' ± the ethics of ubuntu would have recognised the exigencies of
restoration and restitution through the concrete demand for the return of the
territory to its rightful owners and the reversion of sovereignty over the same
territory to the same rightful owners. The adoption of Act No. 108 is inconsistent
with these basic political, legal and ethical exigencies of ubuntu. This
inconsistency means that fundamental questions of restorative, restitutive and
distributive justice either remain totally unanswered or they are partially answered
in a way that protects the original injustice of the unjust acquisition of the territory
of the indigenous conquered peoples and the denial of their sovereignty over their
conquered territory. In this sense Act No. 108 represents the constitutionalisation
of an injustice thereby endorsing the questionable legal maxim ± ex injuria ius
oritur, a right may arise out of an injury. In addition to this, it is clearly debatable if
Act No. 108 is indeed representative of the moral and political convictions of all
the peoples of South Africa. This calls into question the claim in the Preamble of
Act No. 108 referred to with apparent approval by Parker, namely, that `We, the
people of South Africa, . . . Believe that South Africa belongs to all who live in it,
united in our diversity'. Who are `the people of South Africa'? This is by no means
a rhetorical question. It is a historical, political and ethical question that may not be

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M. B. Ramose

ignored in the quest for an already elusive peace in post April 27 1994 South
Africa.
The point of the above considerations is to illustrate that the construction of a
new philosophy of education in South Africa must raise pertinent historical,
political and ethical questions that arise within the context of human relations in
South Africa. The history of epistemicide in South Africa raises fundamental
questions of justice such as the question of epistemological equality of all the
existing paradigms of the peoples of South Africa. Epistemological equality is a
vital ingredient in the construction of a truly representative South African identity
expressed, among others, in the new South African philosophy of education. It is
submitted that South African higher educationists should take the lead in the search
for epistemological equality in the entire educational system.

RESEARCH
RE EA IMPLICATIONS
I P IC T S
In his illuminating discussion of `educational research in the African development
context' Nkomo submits that `an earnest effort to deconstruct the prevailing
Eurocentric epistemology must be a priority project' (Nkomo 2000, 54). This is an
admission that the consequences of the `right of conquest' are still with us. Nkomo
argues that this `priority project' can be realised only `with the emergence of
democratic polities which also draw from African experience in social institutions
and a leadership across the spectrum with the requisite vision and will to create the
enabling conditions for effective and sustainable development' (Nkomo 2000, 48).
Nkomo leaves the reader uninformed about the precise meaning of `the requisite
vision'. It is noteworthy that he makes the pertinent point that African leadership
must have the `will to create . . .' There is no room to explore, philosophically and
historically, the deeper meaning of this phrase. Suffice it to state that for us it is the
call for a veritable metanoia in politics; from the questionable popular premise that
`politics is a dirty game' to the philosophical wisdom that politics is a life-giving
engagement demanding truthfulness and honesty. In short, political love (Sobrino
1985, 80±81) is the philosophical basis for engagement in politics. That this is the
politics of the future is clear from the practice of politics in Africa and the world
over. This raises the question whether or not, in the face of the dominance of
`politics is a dirty game', education and research in Africa can triumph over `the
prevailing Eurocentric epistemology'. Lumumba-Kasango who is `convinced that
Africans should devise new educational policies based on new paradigms . . .'
(Lumumba-Kasango 2000, 139) would appear to answer this question in these
terms: `the current educational philosophy is not likely to support the quality
education that popular and social movements have been demanding . . . either the
entire educational system is philosophically and socially irrelevant or that the
teachers and professors are not teaching and transmitting the necessary knowledge
the way they ought to. Thus, it is imperative that we engage in constructive studies
of education as a tool for social progression' (Lumumba-Kasango 2000, 140). Like

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 In search of an African philosophy of education

Nkomo, Lumumba-Kasango argues that education for freedom and development

can be realised `only through a democratic process' (Lumumba-Kasango 2000,
154). Unlike Nkomo, Lumumba-Kasango does not spell out quite expressly what
the reader should understand by the `democratic process'. For Nkomo, `democracy
cannot be fully realised unless it is informed by a deep sense of justice and equity'
(Nkomo 2000, 58). Nkomo's insightful observation that justice and equity are the
foundation and aim of democracy, means for us that we/they should take these
concepts as their point of departure. Treading along this path should lead the
African to ponder questions such as the following: (1) why is it that often black
Africans appear in the media, including television screens, whenever there are
reports about hunger and poverty in Africa (2) why is it that quite often it is black
women who are street vendors in Africa? (3) why is it that it is black women who
constitute the majority of domestic workers in Africa? (4) why is it that the poorest
of the poor in Africa reside mainly in rural areas? (5) why is it that unemployment
is a structural necessity of the dominant global economic system operating in
South Africa as well? An in-depth analysis of these questions, by no means
exhaustive, is necessary for a research agenda that aims to construct a new
philosophy of education for South Africa.
It is somewhat disturbing that both Nkomo and Lumumba-Kasango appear to
take for granted the apparent necessity for `competition', (Nkomo 2000, 59)
`competitiveness' (Lumumba-Kasango 2000, 141) in the current global economic
system. The problem with this assumption is that it fails to recognise that in the
current global economic system `competition' is actually a departure from the
original meaning of the term, namely, `to seek together the best solution to the right
problem, in the right place and at the right time. It also means that the selection of
the best is not reduced to the unique' (Group of Lisbon 1995, 90). Considered from
the point of view of metaphysics, this distorted meaning of competition boils down
to the claim that one human being is licensed to kill another in the name of
individual survival even though there are alternatives to killing. The underlying
idea here is that philosophically, `competition ontologically violates exteriority'
(Arnsperger 1996, 11±12). This philosophical idea underlies the ubuntu ethical
maxim that feta kgomo o tshware motho ± the primacy of human dignity and well-
being supersedes the preservation of disposable wealth at the expense of human
life. This ubuntu ethical maxim is at odds with the constitutionalisation of the
injustice of the `right of conquest' in Act No. 108 of 1996 on the one hand and the
dominant global economic system which allows for the destruction food in order to
maintain the overall economic system on the other. The destruction of food for this
reason is contrary to the human right to life. It is this kind of inhumanity which
stands in sharp contrast to the humanness of ubuntu ethics. It would seem then that
even a staunch advocate of `universal human rights' such as Parker should agree
that abstract universality is not enough. In view of the whole-istic character of
ubuntu philosophy, the catalogue of human rights should not be understood as
fragments of rights that by some preordained linear historical necessity may be

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attached one by one to the human being. Human rights constitute an organic
wholeness. `Obviously there is an organic connection between the realization of
classical human rights and that of economic, social and cultural rights. The
question may be raised with good reason whether the classical rights can at all be
implemented without ensuring the rights of the latter category; whether a person
lacking even rudimentary education is in a position to make use of his political
rights consciously, in accordance with his interests. But can the enforcement of
social rights alone, without personal liberty and equality before the law being
guaranteed, imply a life free from fear and worthy of man?' (Bokor-SzegoÈ 1991,
22) By this we wish to illustrate that the inscription of ubuntu philosophy in the
research agenda as well as in the quest for a new philosophy of education in South
Africa is imperative.

CONCLUSION
CO C I N
We have considered some aspects of the Higgs-Parker debate on the meaning and
place of African philosophy in the quest for a new philosophy of education in
South Africa. We have shown that the meaning of African need not be taken for
granted. Nor should we lose sight of the fact that the definition of philosophy is not
a matter of `objective science' pure and simple. It is, on the contrary, a question of
power relations as well. We have also submitted that it is arguable that the current
constitution of South Africa is truly representative of the moral convictions and the
political philosophies of the peoples of South Africa. Being at once emancipative
as the basis for the assertion of rights and oppressive as the institutionalisation of
the injustice of the `right of conquest', the current constitution of South Africa
must become the object of research in the quest for a new philosophy of education.
African philosophy in general and, ubuntu philosophy particularly for South
Africa, must be inscribed in the research agenda aimed at the construction of a new
philosophy of education in South Africa. Higher educationists in South Africa
should take the lead in this endeavour.

REFERENCES
RE ER
Arnsperger, C. 1996. Competition, consumerism and the `Other': A philosophical investigation
into the ethics of economic competition. Louvain la Neuve: IRES Institut de Recherches
Economiques, DeÂpartement des Sciences Economiques, Universite Catholique de Louvain.
Binkhorst, G. 1996. Human dignity a theme and its development from Antiquity to the
Renaissance. In Humanism toward the third millennium II, ed. F. Elders. Brussels: VUB
University Press.
Bohm, D. 1980. Wholeness and the implicate order. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Bokor SzegoÈ, Hanna. 1991. The classification of certain types of human rights and the
development of constitutions. In Questions of International Law, Volume 5, ed. H. Bokor
SzegoÈ. Budapest: AkadeÂmiai KiadoÂ.
Booysen, H. and D. van Wyk. 1984. Die `83 grondwet, Kaapstad: Juta en Kie. Bpk.

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