NIETZSCHE, ETHICS AND EDUCATION
EDUCATIONAL FUTURES
RETHINKING THEORY AND PRACTICE
Volume 8
Series Editors
Michael A. Peters
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, USA
J. Freeman-Moir
University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand
Editorial Board
Michael Apple, University of Wisconsin-Madison, USA
Miriam David, Department of Education, Keele University, UK
Cushla Kapitzke, The University of Queensland, Australia
Elizabeth Kelly, DePaul University, USA
Simon Marginson, Monash University, Australia
Mark Olssen, University of Surrey, UK
Fazal Rizvi, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, USA
Susan Robertson, University of Bristol, UK
Linda Smith, University of Auckland, New Zealand
Arun Kumar Tripathi, Dresden University of Technology, Germany
Scope
This series maps the emergent field of educational futures. It will
commission books on the futures of education in relation to the
question of globalisation and knowledge economy. It seeks authors
who can demonstrate their understanding of discourses of the
knowledge and learning economies. It aspires to build a consistent
approach to educational futures in terms of traditional methods,
including scenario planning and foresight, as well as imaginative
narratives, and it will examine examples of futures research in
education, pedagogical experiments, new utopian thinking, and
educational policy futures with a strong accent on actual policies and
examples.
Nietzsche, Ethics and Education
An Account of Difference
By
Peter Fitzsimons
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
NIETZSCHE, ETHICS AND EDUCATION........................................................I
FOREWORD BY MICHAEL A. PETERS ...................................................................VII
PREFACE...............................................................................................................IX
ABBREVIATIONS ...................................................................................................X
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS................................................................................. 1
WHY NIETZSCHE? .................................................................................................. 1
CHAPTER OUTLINE ................................................................................................ 5
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION............................................................................ 12
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATIONAL WRITING ................................................................ 12
EDUCATION AS LIBERATION OF THE SELF............................................................ 13
SCHOPENHAUER AS NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATOR..................................................... 16
CULTURE AND THE GENIUS ................................................................................. 20
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.............................................................................. 24
NIETZSCHE, THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM ....... 29
NIETZSCHE’S RELATIONSHIP WITH EARLIER PHILOSOPHERS................................ 29
ENLIGHTENMENT ................................................................................................ 31
IDEALISM............................................................................................................ 36
KANTIAN METAPHYSICS...................................................................................... 43
NIETZSCHE’S CRITIQUE OF KANT........................................................................ 46
EDUCATION’S NIETZSCHE............................................................................ 54
THE RECEPTION OF NIETZSCHE ........................................................................... 54
THE JOURNAL DEBATE ........................................................................................ 55
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY .......................................................... 69
NIETZSCHE, LIBERALISM AND EDUCATION .......................................... 73
LIBERALISM AND LIBERAL EDUCATION............................................................... 73
ETHICS AND EDUCATION – A LIBERAL TREATISE ................................................. 75
A NIETZSCHEAN PERSPECTIVE............................................................................ 79
AN ETHICS OF DIFFERENCE.................................................................................. 85
ETHICS AND DEMOCRACY ................................................................................... 87
NIETZSCHE, POSTSTRUCTURALISM AND EDUCATION ...................... 91
NIETZSCHE AND POSTSTRUCTURALISM............................................................... 91
CRITIQUE OF HEGELIAN REASON ........................................................................ 93
PERSPECTIVISM AND REGIMES OF TRUTH ............................................................ 96
LYOTARD AND METANARRATIVE ........................................................................ 97
DERRIDA AND LINGUISTIC DECONSTRUCTION..................................................... 99
‘SELF’ AS MULTIPLICITY AND CREATION........................................................... 100
TABLE OF CONTENTS
vi
EDUCATION AS CRITICAL ENGAGEMENT ........................................................... 104
NIETZSCHE, AUTONOMY AND SUBJECTIVITY .................................... 108
NIETZSCHE AND FOUCAULT.............................................................................. 108
GENEALOGY ..................................................................................................... 110
AUTONOMY ...................................................................................................... 112
SUBJECTIVITY ................................................................................................... 115
MECHANISMS OF SUBJECTIVITY........................................................................ 121
NIETZSCHE, DEMOCRACY AND EDUCATION....................................... 127
THE POLITICS OF DEMOCRACY .......................................................................... 127
CONSTRUCTIONS OF DEMOCRACY..................................................................... 128
DEMOCRACY AND EDUCATION.......................................................................... 132
A NIETZSCHEAN CRITIQUE OF DEMOCRACY...................................................... 136
DEMOCRACY TO COME...................................................................................... 142
NIETZSCHE’S ÜBERMENSCH ..................................................................... 149
A CONTINUOUS THREAD.................................................................................... 149
WHO WAS THAT ÜBERMENSCH? ........................................................................ 153
WHAT IS THAT ÜBERMENSCH? .......................................................................... 156
ÜBERMENSCH AND EDUCATION ......................................................................... 160
THE CHALLENGE OF TECHNOLOGY.................................................................... 162
CONCLUSION................................................................................................... 166
REFERENCES................................................................................................... 171
INDEX................................................................................................................. 180
FOREWORD BY MICHAEL A. PETERS
It is a much too troubled and grandiose claim to say that in postmodernity
Nietzsche has replaced Marx. It is the case that a ‘new’ Nietzsche has emerged
from contemporary readings by scholars of the relevance of Nietzsche at least since
the Nietzsche conferences held in Paris in the early 1960s with the participation of
the likes of Gilles Deleuze, Jacques Derrida, Pierre Klossowski, Maurice Blanchot,
Sarah Kofman, Eric Blondel and Michael Haar.1 This new Nietzsche, largely a
French construction, was highly motivated by Heidegger’s interpretive work
published in the 1960s (though first drafted in the mid to late 1930s) and Georges
Bataille’s transgressive reading developed in the 1930s and 1940s. Heidegger in
his work focused on the will to power as art and as knowledge, the eternal
recurrence of the same and the question of nihilism. For Heidegger, Nietzsche
marks the culmination of Western metaphysics. The influence of Heidegger’s
Nietzsche is unmistakable in the writings of Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, and
many others, even if they were to disagree with his conclusions. Bataille also
strongly influenced the new reading through his association with André Breton and
Surrealism, his friendship with Klossowski, and the journals he established which
published Barthes, Foucault and Derrida (he establish Critique in 1946). While
Bataille published only one work that focused on Nietzsche (Sur Nietzsche in
1946), his work and especially his eroticism was infused by Nietzsche.
In this context of new Nietzsche studies we ought to mention also especially the
work of Walter Kaufmann, the German Jewish philosopher who translated
Nietzsche and anthologized existentialism, and R. J. Hollingdale – both a
biographer and translator, who together but independently rehabilitated Nietzsche
in the English-speaking world after WWII. To these names we can add the names
of many prominent and leading Nietzsche scholars: Richard Schacht, Robert C.
Solomon and Kathleen Higgins, Ernst Behler, David Farrell Krell, Alan D. Schrift,
Keith Ansell-Pearson, and Duncan Large, to name a few.2
Nietzsche is alive and well. His influence is growing rather than waning, and
various scholars, especially in the French tradition have manufactured readings that
draw on Marx, Freud and Nietzsche in different combinations and registers. This is
why I welcome this new book on Nietzsche in the field of education that adds to
the beginnings of a now substantial literature that begins the task of serious
philosophical engagement not only with Nietzsche’s educational writing but also
with his ‘philosophy’ and his works in relation to educational themes, a significant
aspect that is overlooked and marginalized in the general philosophical literature.
Peter Fitzsimons’s admirable book takes up the question of ethics and education
in Nietzsche to provide ‘an account of difference’, as he says, and in a carefully
1 See David B. Allison (ed.), The New Nietzsche: Contemporary Styles of Interpretation, 2nd edn
(Cambridge, MA and London: MIT Press, 1985). See also the journal New Nietzsche Studies edited
by Allison and Babette E Babich, who has among other things, written of Nietzsche’s philosophy of
science – http://www.fordham.edu/gsas/phil/nns_journal_description.html.
2 See the course bibliography for Duncan Large’s French Nietzsches on his webpage at
http://www.swan.ac.uk/german/large/frennieb.htm.
FOREWORD
viii
argued analysis by turn he provides the historical background on Nietzsche’s
education and education’s Nietzsche (his reception and educational philosophy),
while also examining his relationship to both German idealism and the
Enlightenment. One of the many strengths of Fitzsimons’s reading is the close
textual attention he attaches to Nietzsche in relation to liberalism and to democracy
through the central concepts of autonomy, subjectivity and Nietzsche’s
Übermensch. Another strength is the way that Fitzsimons traces Nietzsche studies
in the work of the poststructuralists and its import for Nietzsche studies in
education. As he writes in the opening chapter: ‘With his lack of reverence for the
authority of truth and reason, his scathing criticism of transcendental authority, and
his wariness of communal morality, Nietzsche provides a strong basis from which
to question the existing ethical basis for education.’ I cannot provide a better
starting point for an interesting, careful and scholarly reading of Nietzsche than this
book by Peter Fitzsimons, even if you, the reader, are somewhat cautious about any
wholesale embrace of Nietzsche within a normative educational philosophy.
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
September 2006
Michael A. Peters
PREFACE
During rather a smorgasbord of a career, including long periods as a teacher and an
educational management consultant, my interest stays in education, particularly in
the broad questions about the nature of education, its aims, and its justification, in a
world increasingly characterised by difference and dissent. I have long believed
that for individual teachers, for institutions and for those charged with education
policy direction, it is important to ask what we should be doing and why. It was
not surprising, therefore, ten years ago to find myself delving into research on
ethics in education.
My interest in Nietzsche was first aroused with a reading of his Genealogy of
Morals, not only a critique of a specific ethical position, but also an interrogation
of the whole basis of morality itself. There was some resonance for me in his early
experience of religion, where the word of God was law and religious authority
sacrosanct. There was reassurance too in Nietzsche’s refusal to succumb to public
opinion, to be marginalised by authority, or to give up in the face of overwhelming
difficulty. Here at last was a courageous new (albeit hundred-year old) sacrilege –
both poetic and inspirational, and to some extent sanctioned within academia,
although less so in the increasingly psychologised world of education that assumes
some consensus about how students and teachers should be.
In purporting to provide a normative ethical view of education, both liberal and
democratic theories rely on the rational nature of human beings to inform their
practices. An examination of Kantian liberal theory as a basis for education
reveals a reliance on transcendental values, moral certainty, and a form of
subjectivity based on the enlightenment notion of personal autonomy. Social
democratic approaches to education in the tradition of Rousseau also valorise the
rational ‘self’, elevating forms of communal consensus over private autonomy, and
promote a positive view of freedom with a subjectivity based on social cohesion
and shared obligation.
This book argues that an ethics based on either approach is inadequate, in that
both approaches are founded on belief in a human essence subject to the higher
authority of an abstract and universal reason. The book problematises the notion of
a universal human ‘nature’, arguing instead that we occupy multiple and
contradictory subject positions within social life, and that a preordained liberal or
egalitarian order excludes otherness in the very manner that it abhors. The book
thus undermines several assumptions that pose as ethical truths, including freedom,
equality, goodness and universal reason.
Nietzschean perspectivism undermines any privileged access to transcendental
truth and questions the existence of an essential ‘self’. Nietzsche’s pronouncement
of the ‘death of god’ provides a metaphor for the limits of universal reason, leaving
no possibility for alternative certainties, while his Übermensch provides a critique
of rigid adherence to societal norms. Although, post-Nietzsche, there can be no
replacement for universal morality, his philosophy provides a useful reference for
an educational perspective that honours difference, incorporates otherness, and
problematises imposed solutions to the complex unfolding of life as a creative
enterprise.
PREFACE
x
This book has arisen from my doctoral research at the University of Auckland,
where I was privileged to be guided by two outstanding philosophers of education,
Michael Peters and Jim Marshall, both of whom I acknowledge for their
inspiration, their courage and their precision in exploring the troubled path of
educational philosophy amid political turmoil. I want to thank my friends, family
and colleagues for their understanding and patience through the preparation of this
manuscript; in particular, my brother and travelling companion, Patrick, who
encouraged me along this academic journey but for health reasons has now retired.
I would like to acknowledge the Philosophy of Education Society of Australasia,
the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, the International Network of
Philosophy of Education and the Friedrich Nietzsche Society for the opportunity to
present and engage at international conference level many of the ideas developed
in this book over the past six years. My thanks also to Bergin and Garvey for
publishing an early version of some parts of chapter 5 in the Nietzsche’s Legacy for
Education collection.
Peter Fitzsimons
ABBREVIATIONS
To facilitate reference to the various editions of Nietzsche’s writing, and in keeping
with common practice in Nietzschean scholarship, each of his works is cited in the
text using an abbreviation of its title, followed by (a) Roman numerals to indicate
major segments of the work (e.g., a ‘book’ or ‘essay’); and (b) the section number
indicated by the symbol ‘§’. Where there is no section number, the section title has
been used.
Abbreviations are as follows:
BGE: Beyond Good and Evil (Nietzsche, 1990a);
BT: The Birth of Tragedy (Nietzsche, 1967);
CW: The Case of Wagner (Nietzsche, 1967);
DB: Daybreak (Nietzsche, 1982);
EH: Ecce Homo (Nietzsche, 1989);
FEI: On the Future of Our Educational Institutions (Nietzsche, 1909);
GM: On the Genealogy of Morals (Nietzsche, 1989);
GS: The Gay Science (Nietzsche, 1974);
HAH: Human All Too Human (Nietzsche, 1986a);
TI: Twilight of the Idols (Nietzsche, 1990b);
TL: On Truth and Lies In A Nonmoral Sense (Nietzsche, 1990c);
UM II: On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life – Second Untimely
Meditation (Nietzsche, 1983a);
UM III: Schopenhauer as Educator – Third Untimely Meditation (Nietzsche,
1983b);
WP: The Will to Power (Nietzsche, 1968);
WS: The Wanderer and His Shadow (Nietzsche, 1986b);
Z: Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Nietzsche, 1982a).
CHAPTER 1
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS
WHY NIETZSCHE?
With his lack of reverence for the authority of truth and reason, his scathing
criticism of transcendental authority, and his wariness of communal morality,
Nietzsche provides a strong basis from which to question the existing ethical basis
for education. His critique of Enlightenment thinking undermines the Kantian
notion of personal autonomy and provides a basis for poststructural challenges to
the autonomous individual as the subject of education. His corrosive perspectivism
paves the way for multiple interpretations of life as text and the honouring of
difference as an ethical principle. His focus on life and health indicates a
valorisation of an aesthetic approach to life, and his concept of genealogy provides
a tool for varying interpretations of educational practices. His Übermensch
provides a model of human becoming rather than reified being, his notion of
‘beyond good and evil’ constitutes a critique of binary modes of thinking, and his
notion of will to power theorises much of the interplay between individuals and
groups. Surviving manuscript pages indicate that his final and unfinished project
was to be entitled The Revaluation of All Values3, signifying the idea that values
are not grounded in eternal truths but able to be reconstituted by those capable of
rising above the strictures of morality and other socially constructed norms.
Education within liberal societies is valorised as a way of developing self-hood,
for promoting knowledge as part of social and economic development, and for
promoting shared values and traditions for society. Education is an ethical
enterprise in that it is concerned with values that guide both private and social
action. Typical of a liberal prescription for the focus of ethics is “what ends we
ought, as fully rational human beings, to choose and pursue and what moral
principles should govern our action” (Deigh, 1995, p. 244). Such prescriptions
emanate from Kantian philosophy in which moral agency relies on a rational
subject with free will, with a sense of duty and able to choose right from wrong.
Although appealing to commonsense notions of right and wrong, they presuppose a
universal notion of the good and a common approach to inquiry, although no such
consensus is forthcoming. Instead, there is disagreement over both substance and
3 The phrase is used as a subtitle for the collection of Nietzsche's previously unpublished notes The
Will to Power (WP) compiled by his sister. However, Hollingdale notes in the introduction to
Nietzsche's last published work that The Antichrist was intended as the first part of a larger project
The Revaluation of All Values, for which Nietzsche’s plan still survives. The revaluation involved a
critique of Christianity, a critique of philosophy, a critique of morality and a book on the philosophy
of eternal recurrence.
1
CHAPTER 1
process, extending all the way to foundational yet incommensurate values and so
differences are not readily resolvable.
In her survey of feminist perspectives on the self, Meyers (2004) points to the
injustice done to women (as ‘other’) in promoting the rational individual – either as
the Kantian subject who uses reason to transcend cultural norms and to discover
absolute moral truth, or as homo economicus, the subject of neoliberalism who uses
rational choice to maximise satisfaction of desire. Whether the self is identified
with pure abstract reason or with the instrumental rationality of the marketplace,
restricting the view of self to a rational entity isolates the individual from personal
relationships and larger social forces. Prevailing conceptions of the self, she
argues, minimise the impact of interpersonal relationships, ignoring the multiple
sources of social identity constituted by such factors as gender, sexual orientation,
race, class, age and ethnicity, and denying the complex world of the unconscious.
Rather than considering the self in terms of decontextualised individualism and
privileging reason over other capacities, this book agrees with Meyers’ view of the
self as unstable and discursive – a ‘shifting confluence of multiple discursive
currents’ (Meyers, 2004).
Given the interplay between metaphysical issues about the self and moral and
political theory, it is a concern for educational philosophy how particular subject
positions are established and maintained, and what different perspectives might be
brought to bear on the relationship between the ‘self’ and the social. As a critique
of the rational ‘essence’ attributed to human ‘nature’, this book offers a
Nietzschean genealogy of the subject, which treats as problematic the way we
become who we are. The question of subjectivity, driven by Nietzsche’s critique
of modernity and amplified in the work of Foucault, Derrida, Lyotard and others4,
not only challenges the abstract idea of the autonomous rational subject, but also
critiques the nature of educational engagement conducted under the name of
democracy within liberal societies and the way in which subjects in education are
increasingly individuated and governed.
Over the past two decades, social policy in Western society has seen a neoconservative
emphasis on individual responsibility and a neo-liberal reconstruction
of individual freedom in matters traditionally considered as social. Citizens have
been transformed through market economies into pay-as-you-go consumers;
individuals and nations have increasingly subscribed to the power of technology
and the rhetoric of globalisation; and welfare society has given way to notions of
‘thin community’ (Olssen, 2001). Economic rationalism underpins this direction
with its emphasis on individual competition and the dismantling of social cohesion
and the welfare state – a direction frequently referred to as ‘new right’ or ‘neoliberal’
(Upton, 1987; Haworth, 1994; Kelsey, 2002). Recent shifts in government
terminology towards ‘new-left’ or ‘centre-left’ politics provide a superficial mask
for the same economic and social direction, in which citizens are still ‘consumers’
and in which social participation and belonging still give way to the notion of
community as merely an aggregate of individual responses.
4 Chapter 6 examines Nietzsche’s relationship to poststructural accounts of education.
2
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS
Recent calls for a ‘third way’ (Giddens, 1998; 2002) are a thin disguise for an
intensification of managerialism and the responsibilisation of individuals in a
heavily prescribed social space. Critical social traditions in education are
increasingly giving way to an intensified focus on pedagogy and assessment as a
means to individual achievement, with a corresponding diminishing of concern for
ethics and social participation. Given the imperative for growth and expansion
inherent in capitalist economies, the rate of change in technological development
shows no sign of abating, leaving a raft of uncertainties in the legal, ethical and
political domain. Of concern for education here is the lack of certainty in the face
of the poststructuralist critique of the rational metanarratives, and the uncertain
future of the technological and political world the subjects of today’s education are
being prepared for. Liberal and democratic theories have assumed a position of
narrative dominance in determining political and educational ethics, even though, it
will be argued, the practices they underwrite are questionable.
Under the guise of personal autonomy and the amelioration of the human
condition, proponents of liberal education (e.g., R. Peters, 1966) valorise the
Kantian concept of universal reason to constitute and justify educational ethics.
However, over-reliance on reason constitutes an intolerance of otherness, ignoring
much of what is valuable in social life – an outcome that offends liberal principles
of tolerance, fairness and respect for others. Nietzschean perspectivism challenges
the universal certainty of the liberal account of educational ethics, treating identity
as negotiable and ethical prescriptions as contestable. Democratic approaches to
education (e.g., Dewey, 1916) recognise the social nature of education and thus
promise an egalitarian sensitivity to a range of interests. However, such
approaches still uphold liberal values in the reliance on reasoned argument for the
promotion of a consensus, often resulting in compromise between public good and
individual preference. Thus, neither liberal nor democratic theory offers sufficient
basis for a universal educational ethic.
This position undermines the Kantian account of the liberal subject of education
and its recent transformation within neoliberal societies as the rational autonomous
chooser (Marshall, 1995). The following chapters argue that what we call
‘community’ and ‘democracy’ leave much to be desired as ethical systems of
engagement, particularly in terms of their urgency for reconciliation and closure.
Exploration of the ethical basis for education, then, is vital. Nietzsche’s
philosophy is particularly relevant to the task because of his self-professed
perspective as an ‘immoralist’5 (EH, Why I am a Destiny §6), his lack of
compromise in his clarity of vision, and his sustained critique of Western
metaphysics.
Calling into question the modernist notion of universal truth (and therefore the
truth of a singular ethic) generates multiple responses to the problem of education –
a multiplicity engendered and pre-configured by Nietzsche’s philosophical and
political project. Of interest here is a redefinition of the self and what it is to be
human; an examination of nature and culture; a perspective on man as artist and
5 Nietzsche uses the word to distinguish himself from those indoctrinated by the prevailing morality.
In a different sense, Nietzsche’s major focus on values constitutes him very much as a ‘moralist’.
3
CHAPTER 1
creator (vs. creature); a synthesis of the Apollonian and the Dionysian; and the
positing of Übermensch as the basis for a Nietzschean ethic for education.
Nietzsche’s ideas provide alternatives to commonly accepted perspectives on social
policy, on education, and on the nature of our ‘selves’. Nietzschean thought
suggests an explanation for the breakdown of individual and national identity; it
provides grounds for the celebration of difference; and raises the possibility of an
ethics outside liberalism and traditional forms of social democracy. His notions of
the emancipated ‘genius’ and the conformist ‘herd’ provide ground for an
exploration of freedom and morality, and can be seen as a metaphor for the
relationship between individual and society in a working out of the philosophical
play between freedom and equality.
Nietzsche’s philosophy suggests that traditional approaches to ethics do not
provide sufficient basis for educational thought. Objectivist accounts of truth belie
their interpretive stance, Kantian rationality is seen as just another self-referential
belief system, while current formulations of democracy and social justice prevent
the emergence of individual difference and cultural excellence. Obviously, a
Nietzschean account cannot posit an alternative certainty, since the ‘death of god’
does not leave room for another transcendental truth, another supreme god or false
idol/ideal. Instead, the Nietzschean calls into question the ‘taken for granted’,
revealing ethics as an arguable realm with no point of refuge outside this world.
Rather than appealing to universal truth or morality based on the power of abstract
reason, Nietzsche’s impassioned plea for resuscitating the embodied self as a
source of ethics (taken up in Foucault’s genealogy of disciplined and ‘docile’
bodies in chapter seven) provides a new perspective on educational philosophy.
Within the concept of will to power, Nietzsche offers the notion of the
Übermensch as a model of overcoming the social limitations of Christian morality
and the dictates of fashion. In a continuous formative state, ‘untimely men’ (and
here, read ‘Nietzsche’) stand outside the homogenising influence of the State and
are not caught up in the rhetoric of political slogans like ‘knowledge economy’ or
‘third way’. Nor are they standard-bearers of liberal autonomy or champions of an
egalitarian model of social justice. Nietzsche’s Übermensch, involving a
continuous process of ‘overcoming’ and ‘becoming’, is promoted over the
autonomous liberal subject as a hope for education, providing a perspective that
contrasts with the egalitarian and collectivist notions that underpin social
democracy and social justice as guiding ideals for educational endeavour.
In the spirit of agonism, however, it is not proposed that we do away with the
existing social order or the organising principles of modern society, since they
constitute the shared social space that we currently inhabit and thus offer the
possibility of a starting place for new perspectives. What is argued for is a space
for reflective engagement with prevailing discourses in the politics of education,
and in particular, an interrogation of the inflated authority that Western thought
attributes to the rational capacity of the human animal to dictate all aspects of life’s
direction.
Interrogating authority and adopting multiple points of view constitutes an ongoing
challenge to both the rational overlay on social life and the discursive practices that
subjugate otherness. What emerges from this exploration is a respectful ethic of
4
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS
difference, characterised within the Nietzschean/Derridean project of a ‘democracy
to come’, interpretable as Chantal Mouffe’s (1988) idea of a ‘radical democracy’ or
as Iris Young’s (1986; 2000) ‘politics of difference’. Prevalent views of education
are problematised and a strong call issued for a new ethical justification of
educational direction – beyond the promotion of universal reason, social
homogeneity or the commercial production of qualifications. It is argued that
traditional approaches to ethics in education are inadequate in their reliance either
on the abstract idea of the liberal individual grounded in a transcendental idea of
reason, or on the production of useful social and economic lives couched in the
rhetoric of democracy and community. Rather than searching for a universal
solution or any reconciled subject position, the following chapters promote
subjectivity as a process of becoming, and welcome multiplicity and otherness as
opportunities for engagement, for challenge and for educational growth.
CHAPTER OUTLINE
This first chapter provides a necessarily brief summary of the argument, suggesting
how Nietzsche’s perspective might contribute to new thinking about educational
ethics. Having set the scene, the rest of the chapter offers an outline of the
structure of the book, arranged and explained in terms of chapter sequence.
Chapter two explores a number of explicit outcomes that Nietzsche envisaged
for education, including his call for a strengthening of culture through the
promotion of individual brilliance (‘the genius’), expressed through his early
reverence for Schopenhauer. The chapter also explores Nietzsche’s strong
criticisms of educational institutions of his day, many of which are seen as relevant
to today’s institutions as they respond to economic and political necessity.
Nietzsche wrote explicitly about education, more extensively in his early career,
and his work can, in part, be attributed to his existential concern with the growing
strictures on individual freedom emanating from the formation and intensification
of a socialist State. However, his educational ideas go beyond mere ressentiment
and political reaction, with his formulation of what might be called an educational
philosophy not only explicit in his educational writing, but inherent in his poetic
and sometimes exhilarating treatment of other philosophical issues. He saw much
academic endeavour as ‘scholarly grinding’ and acknowledged some value in
technicist education as appropriate for the masses, although he also saw the need
for special individuals – those with higher aspirations – to rise above mediocrity.
His higher process involves admiration, emulation, and then a moving beyond the
images of people, real or imaginary, that we consider worthy of being our
educators. In this process, we learn to “become those we are”6 (GS §335).
Commentators have debated the relevance of Nietzsche’s corpus to educational
theory. While some disparage his work as elitist ranting and others ignore him
altogether, many characterise him not only as a productive educational theorist, but
also as a personification of his own style of educator, a personification extended
6 Obviously, given Nietzsche’s non-essentialist position in relation to ‘self’, this is not a call for the
emergence of an underlying ‘being’. Rather, the call is interpreted as an unravelling of the
conditions which led to our current ‘becoming’ and the positing of the possibility of creating anew.
5
CHAPTER 1
into his most famous character – the wandering prophet Zarathustra. Nietzsche’s
social and political location were major influences on the development of his
philosophical stance. His perspectives on human subjectivity draw heavily upon
his own religious upbringing, on German politics through his formative years, on
Kantian scepticism, on Schopenhauerian pessimism, and also on a lifelong
engagement with his own health. The chapter finishes by drawing together a
number of themes emerging from Nietzsche’s perspective on education, that
suggest a preliminary formulation of what might be called Nietzsche’s educational
philosophy.
Chapter three provides a particular historical view of the German intellectual
tradition, illustrative of the social and cultural environment in which Nietzsche’s
philosophy developed – in particular, the political environment of nineteenth
century Europe, and German intellectual traditions in the shadow of Kant. Specific
focus is given to the Enlightenment and German idealism as informing the political
and philosophical milieu from which Nietzsche emerged, explaining to some extent
the ‘driven’ nature of his message.
Following Descartes and Kant, religious fundamentalism and the divine right of
kings had given way to the ideal of the rational human being as the basis for ethical
responsibility. Liberal thought promoted the twin threads of freedom and equality;
both intertwined with the dignity accorded to humanity because of its rational
‘essence’, and both acting as foundation stones for Western morality and politics.
Nineteenth century German philosophy was to a large degree underpinned by
Kant’s metaphysics. The chapter explores Nietzsche’s criticism of Kant as a
‘cunning Christian’ in that the replacement of ‘faith in God’ as the source of ethical
commitment still required a leap of faith – into the realm of transcendental reason.
With no justification other than itself, reason was to form the basis of morality.
Kant’s ‘categorical imperative’ and his notion of ‘duty’ still required a
commitment to the universal good – a secularisation of the ultimate and
unknowable realm outside of human perception and sensation. From this universal
realm, and aware of the limitations of human reason, Kant derived his ethical
concern for autonomy and the notion of respect for persons as ends in themselves.
It is from Kantian metaphysics that liberal thought draws much of its ethical
support for the dignity of the individual at the heart of secular morality.
Nietzsche’s antipathy to Kant is evident in his early eulogising of Schopenhauer
for elevating the status of embodied presence, for his notion of the will as a
metaphysical force, and his uptake of Eastern mysticism as a counterbalance to
Kantian reason. Upholding Schopenhauer’s rejection of universal and
transcendental ideals, Nietzsche posited will to power rather than rational essence
as the driver for humanity. He promoted embodied, worldly presence – the real
rather than an idea(l) of heavenly salvation or deified truth, and espoused
individual character over equality or social conformity.
Nietzsche’s view of morality is intertwined with his view of herd mentality, and
although holding a deep respect for Christ himself, Nietzsche ridiculed the
Christian technology of subservience and self-denial. He also refused any morality
that relied on an afterlife or a ‘better world’ for salvation, believing instead that the
life to be celebrated is of this world – not some elevation of the good (or godliness)
6
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS
to a realm beyond human perception. As a critique of Kantian thought, Nietzsche’s
Übermensch functions as a personification of worldly freedom, a (debatably)
human form that projects Nietzsche’s valuation of the aesthetic over the
transcendent, his espousal of individual overcoming over social obligation or
public acceptance, and his promotion of health and power over sickness and duty.
The role of culture and education was to prepare the way for Übermenschlich
development, with the power of humanity manifest in its highest specimens7. The
chapter finishes with a short overview of the philosophical relationship between
Schopenhauer (Nietzsche’s mentor for many years) and Kant, in relation to
Nietzsche’s subsequent conception of the Übermensch.
In the style of a literature review8, chapter four draws mainly upon a debate
conducted across a number of articles in three philosophy of education journals;
their authors engaged with a wide range of Nietzsche’s writing to examine his
relevance to educational thought. Extending the scope beyond the works generally
considered to be ‘about education’, these authors extract a range of themes that
yield fresh perspectives and enrich discussions in the field of educational
philosophy. Interpretations include: a redefinition of the self and what it is to be
human (GM); an examination of nature and culture as issues for education (UM
III); a perspective on man as artist and ‘creator’ rather than ‘creature’; the elevation
of genius and untimeliness as a model of individual freedom; a synthesis of the
Apollonian and the Dionysian as a reconciliation of competing forces within our
psyche (GM); and the positing of Übermensch as a basis for a Nietzschean ethic
for education. This last formulation, representing much of Nietzsche’s
philosophical contribution to the educational discourse, will be expanded in a later
chapter as a metaphor for education: as an interpretation of individual freedom in
relation to society; as a mechanism for facing adversity and challenge; and as an
icon for the value of reflection and creativity in becoming who we are.
Nietzsche’s other writing, although not explicitly focussed on education, also
serves to illuminate educational debate, particularly his iconoclastic ‘death of god’
as a radical approach to perspectivism and the recognition of difference as an
ethical principle; his attitude towards overcoming difficulties as a constant spur to
higher achievement; and his counter-nihilistic approach to the creation of new
values while facing up to the end of certainty. His parable of Zarathustra is often
taken as a metaphor for his own educational philosophy, with its main character a
model of the teacher Nietzsche saw himself as. The chapter finishes by recalling
some specific themes from chapter two (i.e. Nietzsche’s specific educational
writing), which, combined with the academic commentary of chapter four suggest
what might be translated into the modern idiom as a Nietzschean educational
philosophy – a collection of thoughts that point strongly to his figure of the
Übermensch as a metaphor for education.
7 The character and function of Nietzsche’s Übermensch is explored in chapter nine.
8 The range, style and extent of Nietzsche’s writing preclude a full review of his writing. This book
limits the focus to that which is either explicitly or implicitly educational. Other commentators are
drawn upon throughout to highlight specific points, their work summarised and analysed where
appropriate.
7
CHAPTER 1
Chapter five explores the dual traditions of liberalism and democracy in the
British school of educational philosophy, where Richard Peters (1966) adopted a
substantially Kantian position to advocate a universal ethics for education; a
position that required on the one hand, individual rationality, concern for truth and
the giving of reasons; and on the other hand, a concern for democratic process and
respect for others as ends in themselves. The fundamental ethical system for Peters
is democracy, not because the majority holds power, but because it allows for
deliberation by informed individuals operating within a paradigm of Kantian
rationality.
The chapter argues that Nietzschean perspectivism and genealogy undermine
Peters’ claims, providing a vigorous challenge to universal rational morality as the
fundamental basis for ethical theory. In an early essay, Nietzsche portrayed truth
as human construction rather than as a reflection of objective reality; preferring to
interpret reason as an object of faith rather than as the basis for a categorical
imperative or as a source of respect for others. A Nietzschean perspective on the
notion of ethics in education suggests that a multi-dimensional perspective may be
more appropriate than a universal morality in determining an ethical basis for
educational direction. Such a view resists final closure on any individual identity,
suggesting that identity formation is a political process that rests on social
definitions of difference, with the resulting identity not an inherent truth about
one’s being, but a self-reinforcing ‘circle of significations’ (Connolly, 1991). The
chapter argues for an agonistic relationship, in which contending identities and
‘otherness’ are nurtured – a position that challenges the reliance on the giving of
reasons as the basis for ethics. With difference as an ethical principle and
considering Peters’ own call for fairness and respect for persons, his theory is
exposed as insufficient to embrace the complex and not always rational processes
of subjects under liberal democracy.
Chapter six brings together a number of authors generally considered within
postmodern and poststructural analysis, examining Nietzsche’s contribution to their
educational philosophy. The varied perspectives within poststructural critique
provide a strong counterbalance to essentialist and reified notions of the self within
liberal thought. The chapter explores some recurring themes in poststructuralist
endeavour, linked to Nietzsche’s corrosive effect on the humanist subject.
Through a critical examination of the fundamental place of scientific reason in
defining our social ‘reality’, assumptions underlying educational theory and
practice are challenged – in particular, the assumption of a unified reason and the
Hegelian notion of progress as part of modernity. The chapter also explores the
relation between power and truth in the maintenance of social order, the play of
difference as a critique of ‘grand narrative’, deconstruction of the ‘text’ and ‘the
author’ in favour of an interpretive paradigm, and the ‘self’ as multiplicity and
creation. The deconstruction of singular meaning challenges educators to enter
into critical and constructive dialogue, to interpret ‘otherness’ as tentative and to
avoid the closure of final definitions.
Chapter seven explores the notion of autonomy in relation to the Nietzschean
subject, referring in particular to Foucault’s notions of ‘governmentality’ and
‘subjectivity’, locating the modern self firmly within the rationality of government.
8
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS
Drawing heavily on Kantian thought, the notion of autonomy promotes a sovereign
view of the self, operating according to rational principles largely removed from
social and political encumbrance. As the teacher of will to power at the heart of
existence, Nietzsche might be expected to support such an empowered and
‘liberated’ view of the self. However, the autonomous individual is a misguided
notion for Nietzsche, since the guiding light of reason is neither transcendental nor
internal, representing a false ideal (‘idol’) that can be neither known nor
experienced. His vision is of higher types attempting to break free into a realm of
individual perception, but being dragged down by mediocrity and a lowly morality
that attempts to homogenise and ‘make small’.
Arguing that Foucault extends and elaborates on Nietzschean thought, the
chapter provides a Foucauldian critique of Kantian autonomy as an aim of
education, offering instead the notion of ‘subjectivity’ to represent the social nature
of self-government. Rather than adopting a universal and transcendental notion of
‘self’, the Nietzschean/Foucauldian direction reveals a contingent identity that
develops in relation to the prevailing discourse – as much ‘subjected’ as
‘subjecting’. The notion of autonomy, then, can be seen as a mantra to keep
individuals believing in individual freedom and self-government, while operating
within the sphere of power and obligation.
Social and political considerations are therefore important in determining the
direction and extent to which people might take charge of their own lives within
particular social groupings such as family, community, nation or humankind. All
these social groupings require particular constellations of subjectivity, with a belief
in individual autonomy acting to secure willing compliance and cooperation,
especially if that is to be achieved through consensus or community. The chapter
explores an extension of this subjectivity into ‘third way’ politics – a recent
manifestation of social democracy and a euphemism for political management of
human aspiration that extends into the domain of education. The chapter concludes
that ‘third way’ rhetoric masks a highly governed form of individuality bearing
little resemblance to participation in a caring community.
Chapter eight begins by highlighting some aspects of Nietzsche’s relationship
with social and political life relevant to his attitudes about democracy. The chapter
then explores various accounts of democracy suggesting some common features,
including: a reliance on rational deliberation; the promotion of self-government
and self-regulation; and a belief that it enables fair compromise in the satisfaction
of wants. Democracy is then examined in relation to education, drawing
particularly on the work of Dewey (1916; 1938), Gutmann (1999), and R. Peters
(1966); to suggest that democratic approaches to education involve: initiation into
certain traditions and rituals, a reliance on rational debate and deliberation; a
respect for equality in the interplay between self and social cooperation; a strong
relationship between education and lived experience; and a considerable
presumption of freedom in the exercise of one’s rights and responsibilities. Dewey
(1916) argued further for shared values, free interaction, and the inhibition of
impulses through critical reflection.
Nietzsche’s critique of democracy is explored from a number of angles: its
metanarrative status; its egalitarian focus, its exclusion of otherness; its privileging
9
CHAPTER 1
of reason in human affairs; and its elevation of a social system above the
individuals it purports to serve. The chapter suggests Nietzsche’s thinking on these
matters reflects not only his critique of transcendental reason, but also his unease
about limitations on personal expressions of difference, possibly stemming from
his experience of German nationalism and progressive socialism.
Although Nietzsche’s writing is strong in his criticism of democracy, Derrida
notes that Nietzsche is not an “enemy of democracy in general” (2002, p. 234).
Rather, Nietzsche can be seen as criticising particular forms of democracy. The
chapter finishes with a Nietzschean perspective on the relationship between
democracy and education, engaging with the debate about whether ‘antidemocratic’
Nietzsche can be used to support a vision of democracy in education.
Nietzsche’s whole stand against Kantian metaphysics and against many of the
political practices that bear the name ‘democracy’ is really the beginning of his
notion of a democracy ‘yet to come’ – a Nietzschean idea developed by Derrida
and others9 as a way to proceed. Its lack of closure and respect for otherness is
congruent with Iris Young’s notion of a ‘politics of difference’ – an
acknowledgement of the contingent and tentative grip human knowledge has on
what it calls ‘social reality’. ‘Democracy to come’ is not about the power of
majorities or the rights of minorities. It is not about consensus or rational debate.
It represents a space for diversity and mutual recognition of otherness – necessarily
a site of tension and one that calls for agonistic engagement with difference. Such
is the function of Nietzsche’s Übermensch.
Chapter nine draws together a number of Nietzschean themes in the figure of the
Übermensch as a metaphor for education. It is argued that a focus on Übermensch
is not so much an examination of an ontological state, but a reflective critique of
one’s own ability to operate in a social environment in celebration of this life; a
celebration in which the creator is secure, independent, and highly individualistic,
with a healthy balance between passion and reason. Given Nietzsche’s rejection of
conformity and transcendental ideals, Übermensch represents a plurality of norms,
an undermining of the doctrine of one normal human type, and the possibility for
multiple perspectives – a possibility that underpins an ethical direction towards
multiplicity and celebration of difference rather than any closure into certainty and
unity.
In his stand over and beyond nihilism, Nietzsche attributed the power of
creation to a new possibility for humanity – his Übermensch, the development of
which can be seen as a continuous project throughout his work. Contrasted with
the sickly specimens Nietzsche saw as weakened and tamed in the servitude of
Christianity, morality and societal decadence, Übermensch represented a warrior
strength emanating from facing up to life’s challenges and an agonistic process of
overcoming difficulties. In this engagement, one’s enemies are welcomed as
contributing to one’s own strength – thus a philosophy of respect for otherness
rather than the rejection of negativity that constitutes the Hegelian dialectic. The
kind of overcoming defended here and modelled in the Übermensch is, then, one
9 Derrida’s (2001; 2002) ‘democracy to come’ is put forward in chapter eight as an interpretation of
Nietzsche’s thinking, and expanded by others following Derrida. See, for example, Caputo (1997);
Touraine (1997); Peters (1996); and West (1990).
10
NIETZSCHE AND ETHICS
that incorporates difference with a cumulative strengthening of character. Inherent
in the notion of Übermensch is a continuous and dynamic overcoming of the
currently known.
Nietzsche’s themes of eternal recurrence and will to power can be understood in
terms of his Übermensch construction, although it can be argued that the theme of
eternal recurrence is best understood as a call to action rather than a description of
a metaphysical cycle of actual events. To embrace the idea of eternal recurrence is
to face the hypothetical possibility of being stuck in one’s existential predicament
forever, and so the imperative is to create that cycle (as if it were true) at the
highest possible level of achievement.
Given that Nietzsche never painted an explicit picture of the Übermensch for us,
we are left to decipher possibilities from the literature that preceded Nietzsche,
from his references to Übermenschlich qualities of the people he admired, and
from his depiction of his own physical health and socio-cultural predicament.
Nietzsche’s Übermensch is portrayed as a form of ‘overcoming’ and challenges
some prevailing assumptions about human identity. Unlike the autonomous
individual espoused by Kant, Übermensch is particular (not universal),
impassioned (not just rational), in the image of man (not God), embodied (not
spiritual), and worldly (not ideal or transcendental). It is also social, interactive
and pragmatic; and, through agonistic contest, incorporates otherness. It provides
a useful metaphor for education, signifying a level of development beyond the
currently known, and promoting life as subjective challenge and selfdetermination.
Also explored in chapter nine is the challenge laid down by Heidegger in his
characterisation of technology as a danger for humanity in its capacity to enframe
our way of thinking. As education is increasingly being called upon to deal with
the nihilism of modernity through the development of Übermensch, we run the risk
of casting education itself as a neutral technology and thus of losing our ability to
stand back and reflect on the process to which we are committed. Nietzsche’s
Übermensch, then, has an added dimension of introducing the self-reflective
capacity to the process of its own development, and thus for philosophy of
education in terms of what education is doing, how it goes about that, and to what
ends.
The final chapter provides a short summing up of the book’s argument,
concluding that traditional approaches to ethics do not provide sufficient basis for
educational thought today. Nietzsche’s philosophy, in its dismantling of
metaphysics, is unable to posit an alternative certainty either; although it provides a
strong platform from which to problematise the relationship between self and
society, to question the governing role played by reason in the development of
social selves, and to question the political structures that are charged with
maintaining the current order. With no referent in a supernatural realm and no
divine inspiration for truth, human enterprise becomes the possibility of multiple
subjectivities and the creation of new values. The value of Nietzsche’s thinking for
education is its refusal of unwarranted subjugation and its agonistic engagement
with otherness – a ‘celebration of difference’.
11
CHAPTER 2
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATIONAL WRITING
In attempting to locate Nietzsche’s work in the realm of ethics, it is illuminating to
examine the specific focus he gave to the topic of education. It would be a
straightforward exercise to assemble his written comments about education or to
search indexes from his published works that focus specifically on that topic.
However, Nietzschean scholars do not concur about what Nietzsche is ‘really
saying’, especially when various aphorisms are decontextualised either in relation
to a particular book or in relation to the rest of his philosophy.
It has also become something of an art form to interpret his other work (not
clearly identified as ‘education’) as evidence of what might be called Nietzsche’s
‘educational philosophy’; particularly his ideas on the ‘death of god’ as an
approach to perspectivism, his attitude towards overcoming difficulties, his
counter-nihilistic approach to the end of certainty, and his exhortation to be all we
can be in the face of the threat of life as an eternally recurring repetition of events
(GS §341). His parable of Zarathustra is often taken as a metaphor for his own
educational philosophy and as a model of the teacher Nietzsche saw himself as10.
The contentiousness of the interpretive approach stems partly from a lack of
consensus about what constitutes ‘education’. It also stems, however, from the
extended period of Nietzsche’s writing and what are often thought to be
inconsistencies and contradictions in his ideas. The project is further complicated
by the different status usually accorded to his published work from that accorded to
his unpublished manuscripts, with not all commentators agreeing over which
should take precedence (Golomb, 1997, p. 23). However, throughout Nietzsche’s
work there is a consistent thread, and some ongoing relevance to issues that
educators grapple with today.
The current chapter examines some historical influences on the development of
Nietzsche’s elitist perspective on culture and education, in particular the role
played by Schopenhauer, the intensification of the German State, and a gradual
redefinition of education as a commercial utility. Drawing from Nietzsche’s
sometimes extravagant ideas, the chapter offers some perspectives on culture and
education that may be relevant to the political milieu of today’s institutions. The
focus is on Nietzsche’s specific writing about education and interpretations of his
own references to the topic. In the interests of clarity, recent commentary on the
educational implications of his wider philosophy will be left until a later chapter,
10 Gordon (1980) goes as far as suggesting that Nietzsche’s whole educational philosophy can be
gleaned from Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
12
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
although both aspects are important and will be taken into account in determining
what might be called a ‘Nietzschean’ educational philosophy. This determination
forms the basis of the argument that Nietzsche’s work provides a consistent and
useful perspective on the problem of ethics in education, and that his notion of
‘overcoming’ provides a strong metaphor for education – a metaphor that comes to
fruition in his figure of the Übermensch.
Aside from the educational attributes that are read into his various aphorisms or
into the teaching style of his character Zarathustra, Nietzsche’s oeuvre includes
specific writings on the topic of education, notably Schopenhauer as Educator
(UM III), in which he refers to Schopenhauer as his ‘true educator’; and a series of
five lectures (FEI) delivered two years earlier at Basel University, outlining what
he saw as a bleak future for German educational institutions. Although written in
the early 1870s, the ingredients of his educational thinking are explicit, supporting
substantially the ideas expounded in his later writing, although he was later to
voice opposition to Schopenhauer and Wagner as ideal exemplars. Although his
early writing opposed the authoritarian nature of growing State control in
nineteenth century Germany, Nietzsche’s writing cannot be framed up merely as a
dialectical attack on his predecessors. He proposed several desirable outcomes of a
healthy education system, including a strengthening of culture and the promotion
of individual brilliance through such notions as ‘genius’ and ‘untimeliness’.
The relationship between individual and culture was a strong theme in
Nietzsche’s work, especially in the philosophical development of his concept of
education. In fact, his notion of culture is inextricably linked to what he calls ‘true’
(i.e., desirable) education. But his idea of culture is neither a description of
existing practices nor a prescription for communal egalitarianism. Rather, it
provides a higher ideal of the perfecting of nature through the promotion of
‘genius’, for, he claims, it is through great men and great works that cultures are
celebrated.
EDUCATION AS LIBERATION OF THE SELF
A key role for the Nietzschean educator is to reveal or liberate the ‘true’ self. This
is not the search for an individuated essence or the enlightenment quest for the
Cartesian subject, but rather an exhortation to break free from conventionality, to
be responsible for creating our own existence, and to overcome the inertia of
tradition and custom. The difficult task in this quest is to follow the path towards a
higher, and as yet unknown, self:
for your true nature lies, not concealed deep within you, but immeasurably
high above you, or at least above that which you usually take yourself to be.
Your true educators and formative teachers reveal to you what the true basic
material of your being is, something in itself ineducable and in any case
difficult of access, bound and paralysed: your educators can be only your
liberators (UM III §1).
The true self could be revealed and one’s acquired identity overcome, not by
introspection, but by examining our revered objects and educators of the past, as
13
CHAPTER 2
stepladders upon which we have climbed so far; in other words, how have we
become who we are. Examining those held in high esteem was, for Nietzsche, the
path to our true selves, with the culture of modern society never anything more
than “the prisonhouse or hunting ground of the gifted individual” (Stern, 1983:
xxxii).
In addition to the two specifically ‘educational’ works mentioned, Nietzsche
also gave considerable attention to the subject of education in his other early essay
on the utility of history as reflecting the values of a particular society (UM II). In
this essay, the goal of education is identified as the ‘free cultivated man’; as
opposed to both ‘the scholar’ (an ‘aesthetic and cultural philistine’ and a ‘walking
encyclopaedia’), and the ‘speedily employable man of science’ who attempts an
unobstructed knowledge of the world through empirical observation. Here,
Nietzsche is critical of academic pretensions to knowledge for its own sake, since
everything that possesses life ceases to live when it is dissected. He is particularly
critical of history’s pretence at unifying past events, when any order that does
occur is by mere chance amid life’s multiple pathways. According to Nietzsche, a
shallow ‘knowledge of culture’ usurps the place of ‘life and experience’ as an
educational goal, with the illusory promise that it is possible to summarise the
greatest experiences of former ages in a few years. In the same way, Nietzsche
suggests, young artists are taught by means of visits to picture galleries instead of
in the workshops of the masters, particularly that unique master – nature.
Nietzsche is explicit about the ‘necessary truth’ of education that culture springs
from life; and sees a vital role for education in the fight against mere imitation and
uniformity. Harking back to the Greek conception of culture as a coming together
of life, thought, appearance and will, Nietzsche’s education is about a wholism and
a truthfulness, even though such a stance may procure the downfall of the shallow
and ‘decorative’ culture of the day.
Through the period of his writing (1871 –1889), Nietzsche’s focus shifted.
What is generally considered his ‘early’ period (1871 - 1876) harks back to ancient
Greece with hope for redemption though art and high culture. His ‘middle’ period
is often described as his positivistic phase, in which his quest for knowledge was a
focus on reason and science, and a turning away from his earlier Romanticism. His
last productive period (post 1883) saw a more focussed engagement with the idea
of universal morality and the creation of new values. Recognition of the varying
perspectives throughout the phases of his philosophical ‘development’ is a means
of reconciling what are often thought to be contradictions in his work. In spite of
the perspectival shifts that can be read into Nietzsche’s thought, it will be argued
that there are some common threads that unify Nietzsche’s corpus against the
nihilism of modernity in what one commentator has called a “one-man, non-stop
demonstration of exaltation” (Tanner, 1990, p. 13).
What might be taken as his explicit educational philosophy, then, is drawn
mainly from this early period from 1872 to 1874, during which time he was
coming to terms with the restrictive institutional nature of his employment in
universities and his frustration with the ascendancy of the State in prescribing
cultural parameters. During this time he attacked scientific progress and followed
Schopenhauer in his view that non-rational forces were at the heart of reality. Life
14
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
was seen as more important than academic forms of knowledge; art and music
were celebrated as the pathway to a joyful and creative existence. References to
education scattered throughout Nietzsche’s later works11 tend to support his early
educational philosophy, and there is little to detract from his earlier formulation.
Schacht (1995) depicts the essay on Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s declaration of
intellectual independence – from the academic establishment, from the kind of
scholarship practiced and honoured by his philological peers, and from the sort of
philosophy that had become dominant in the universities of the time. Hollingdale
(1996, p. 78) suggests that the focus is on Schopenhauer as an exemplar, that it is
Schopenhauer’s legend that educates, and that his educative role results from his
fearless independence in the service of truth. Although a reader can be forgiven for
believing that it is the earlier philosopher in person that Nietzsche is referring to,
the argument supported here is that the image is a metaphor for Nietzsche’s own
self-educative process, and that his description of Schopenhauer is an attribution
based on his perception of his own life. He was to write many years later:
Now that I am looking back from a certain distance upon the conditions of
which these essays bear witness, I do not wish to deny that at bottom they
speak only of me. ....in Schopenhauer as Educator my innermost history, my
becoming is inscribed. Above all, my promise! ... At bottom it is admittedly
not ‘Schopenhauer as Educator’ that speaks here, but his opposite,
‘Nietzsche as Educator’ (EH, The Untimely Ones §3).
In the light of Nietzsche’s own admission, an analysis of his essay on
Schopenhauer is more likely to reveal his own philosophy of education rather than
that of his mentor. Nietzsche’s depiction of himself as Schopenhauer’s ‘opposite’
is interpreted as his retrospective attempt to reject Schopenhauer and the
pessimistic response to life. However at the time of writing, Nietzsche obviously
saw something of himself in Schopenhauer (or Schopenhauer in himself).
Schopenhauer’s ideas permeated much of Nietzsche’s later writing as well, so an
exploration of the significance of Schopenhauer is integral to an exploration of
Nietzsche’s philosophy. What was it about Schopenhauer in particular that
appealed to Nietzsche? After all, there had been many other great men. And what
influence did Schopenhauer have on Nietzsche’s philosophy? Such questions
cannot be adequately addressed without acknowledging the impact of Kant on
nineteenth century German philosophy. That analysis is part of the examination of
German idealism in chapter four, but for now, the focus is on Nietzsche’s explicit
educational commentary.
11 Some examples are his comments: on ‘scholars’ (BGE §204 – §213; Z II, On Scholars), on the
worthlessness of German education (EH, Why I am so Clever §1), (HAH II §181, §184, §268; WS
§282), on the uselessness of ‘formal education’ (DB III §195), on the need for truthfulness in
education (DB III §196; Z II, On the Famous Wise Men; WS §267), on the relationship between
education and strength (HAH I §224), on education and culture (HAH I §272).
15
CHAPTER 2
SCHOPENHAUER AS NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATOR
Nietzsche identifies two maxims for the successful educator: on the one hand, to
recognise and develop particular strengths in a pupil; on the other hand, to draw
forth and nourish all the aspects in harmony. Schopenhauer was a philosopher
who for Nietzsche was capable of achieving this balance. It is worth noting that
Nietzsche does not ascribe to Schopenhauer any intentionality in his educative
task. Rather he sees Schopenhauer setting a moral example to be emulated. The
educative function seems to be one that is determined by the pupil, who adopts the
challenge of achieving the standard set by his exemplar.
Schacht points out that when Nietzsche speaks of Schopenhauer as educator, the
German text in the title is not Lehre (signifying instruction or the imparting of
some body of knowledge or doctrine). Rather he uses the word Erzieher, which
carries the idea of challenging, provoking, stimulating, inspiring; all part of acting
as an examplar. It is in this sense that ‘educator’ is here to be understood. Rather
than creating disciples or moulding pupils to fit specified outcomes, human beings
were to become human by developing their intellectual and creative abilities to the
full.
Three qualities of Schopenhauer stood out for Nietzsche: his originality and
honesty in a period of German philosophy that he saw characterised by pedantry
and conformity; his cheerfulness emanating from courage and strength; and his
uncompromising steadfastness. Nietzsche also followed Schopenhauer in his
contempt for those ‘scholars’ with a limited search for ‘pure knowledge’ unrelated
to the vicissitudes of life. In contrast he saw Schopenhauer as liberating
philosophy from the control of state and society, partly through the introduction of
Eastern mysticism to the realm of philosophy. Nietzsche’s early infatuation with
Schopenhauer is evidenced in his psychological positioning of himself in relation
to Schopenhauer as “a son being instructed by his father. It is an honest, calm,
good-natured discourse before an auditor who listens to it with love” (UM III §2).
Nietzsche expressed a similar parental admiration for Wagner in his first book,
the Birth of Tragedy, also written in this early period. Wagner had been heavily
influenced by Schopenhauer as well, and so both directly and indirectly,
Nietzsche’s philosophy was imbued with Schopenhauerian thought. Janaway
(1994) details the Schopenhauerian themes that impacted on subsequent musicians
and philosophers, among them his aesthetic theory, his philosophy of music, his
recognition of the unconscious, his treatment of the overpowering sexual drive, his
pessimism, and his questioning of the value of human existence. These themes
were certainly picked up and elaborated on through Nietzsche’s productive years,
although it is difficult to assess how much relied on the direct influence of
Schopenhauer and how much was the Zeitgeist – the spirit of the age and the
impending nihilism of modernity’s engagement with the inaccessible realm of
metaphysics.
Nietzsche believed life was more important than distanciated knowledge, and
his early writing claimed that art and music could provide the pathway to a joyful
and creative existence (BT), although his later autobiographical reflections (EH)
engaged in self-critique for his earlier naïve belief that art could be the palliative
for the cruelty and suffering of life. He followed Schopenhauer in his view that
16
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
non-rational forces were at the heart of reality. The intensity of Nietzsche’s
interest in Wagner and Schopenhauer (and even his eventual and repeated rejection
of both) is evidence of the degree to which he was challenged and provoked by
them, and thus, by his own definition, the degree to which they were prime
examples of his notion of an educator.
Hollingdale (1996) argues that, following the failure of the German revolution
of 1848 and prior to the foundation of the Reich in 1871, freedom of expression
was limited. As an example he refers to the purges carried out in university
philosophy departments against anything that was subversive of the existing order,
and characterises the Germany of Nietzsche’s formative years as a conservative
backwater of Europe. Ansell-Pearson (1994) notes that the development of the
German Reich was not based on profound philosophical deliberations, and that
Bismarck came into power by announcing that he opposed the politics of ‘speeches
and resolutions’ with a polity of ‘iron and blood’. Under Bismarck, twenty-six
German States were assembled into the new German Reich. This was the ‘Age of
Progress’ (Burchell, 1966), characterised by increasing mechanisation, growing
reliance on applied science, and a rising socialism amongst the working class.
Portrayed as authoritarian but benign12, the role of the State was to safeguard the
German military machine – an important tool of foreign policy, and to ensure the
stability of the existing German government. Given the political direction of the
period, it is not surprising that Nietzsche’s high regard for independent thinking
and untimely men distanced him from German nationalism. What he found in
Schopenhauer was the independence that he sought:
liberation from the constraints of conventional thinking, from the strictures
and imperatives of existing institutions (social, political, and also academic),
and even from the thinker’s own biological and historical conditioning
(Schacht, 1995, p. 162).
Nietzsche, reflecting Schopenhauer’s contempt for Hegel, often denounced
Hegel’s idea of the State as the highest goal for mankind. He argued that, under
the power of the State, the money-makers and the military held power; so that
serving the State was a lapse into stupidity and counterproductive to culture.
Instead, he saw it as the duty of philosophers to concern themselves with the world
of culture, so that the spirit of humanity could be preserved. It was important
therefore for Nietzsche to theorise the nature of this ‘spirit’ and it was
Schopenhauer that provided a clue. Schopenhauer represented the staunch spirit
that Nietzsche admired, the spirit of a man who reconciles action and
contemplation, voluntarily taking upon himself the suffering involved in being
truthful to the point of destroying his former self:
12 In rapid succession Bismarck “pushed through the German parliament a series of insurance acts
against sickness (1883), accident (1884) and old age (1889). By the first years of the 20th century,
Germany had laws regulating every aspect of industrial life: wages and hours, time off, grievance
procedures, safety measures. There was even a law prescribing the location and minimum number of
toilets and windows in factories” (Burchell, 1966, p. 79).
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CHAPTER 2
He will, to be sure, destroy his earthly happiness through his courage; he will
have to be an enemy to those he loves and to the institutions which have
produced him; he may not spare men or things, even though he suffers when
they suffer; he will be misunderstood and for long thought an ally of powers
he abhors (UM III §4).
Nietzsche’s image of Schopenhauerian man not only describes the selfovercoming
inherent in his later formulation of the Übermensch, it illuminates the
trajectory of his relationship with friend and mentor Richard Wagner, particularly
his reticence about the strong nationalistic spirit that imbued the work of his
cultural forbear. It is also strangely prescient of Nietzsche’s own fate for years to
come in having his ideas misappropriated in support of a totalitarian regime in Nazi
Germany13, the kind of misreading that Nietzsche may have anticipated in his
description of himself as having been “born posthumously” (AC: Foreword).
Schopenhauer had interpreted Kant’s ideas, to depict the world in terms of two
aspects: that of representation, or the way we experience things; and that of will,
an unconscious, irrational force, blind and constantly striving throughout all nature.
The human condition was one of being constantly torn between the rational process
of the conscious mind and the underlying all-pervasive will. Since the will had no
element of space and time, it therefore lacked individuation. There being no
plurality of individuals, all there was in-itself was Will. There were considerable
differences between Schopenhauer’s will and Kant’s ‘thing-in-itself’, particularly
in terms of the human capacity to experience the will. After all, movement of the
body was a manifestation of the will. And yet there were also reasonable
similarities, especially the notion of ‘representation’ in that one’s knowledge was
always only perception. For Schopenhauer, the closest one came to ‘knowing’ the
will was through contemplation in art and in the felt experience of bodily
movement.
Nietzsche acknowledges that Kant’s reliance on the transcendental realm as
descriptive of reality could easily lead to scepticism and relativism, resulting in an
eventual nihilism, a destination that was anathema to Nietzsche’s whole
philosophical project. Schopenhauer’s educative value seems to rest for Nietzsche
in his ability to face the profound depression he feels at the valuelessness of his
existence, and to transform it through contemplation. Aesthetic experience,
Schopenhauer claimed, could provide a perception of the world uncluttered by
subjective desires. What made Schopenhauer even greater for Nietzsche is that he
grappled with the issues of life in an era that would limit his freedom to do so, and
yet still emerged the genius.
Schacht (1995) argues that Schopenhauer’s radical stance did not fit easily with
Western religious and philosophical thought. He clashed with the Christian
interpretation of divinity, with contemporary beliefs about rationality and historical
progress, and with belief in the possibility of human happiness. The image of a
solitary thinker issuing a challenge to accepted tradition is one easily associated
with Nietzsche as well, so it could be argued that Nietzsche has assimilated not
only Schopenhauer’s ideas but also his style of philosophy, and according to
13 See Kaufmann (1974, p. 78).
18
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
Janaway, “even his nuances of voice and terminology” (1994, p. 104). Other
commentators go further:
His writings, all of them, are full not just of quotations and paraphrases from
Schopenhauer, but of phrases allusions and rhythms both conscious and
unconscious. Nietzsche breathed Schopenhauer and cannot be understood
without him (Young, 1992, pp. 3-4).
Much is made of the difference between Schopenhauer and Nietzsche in their
treatment of post-Kantian pessimism, and even Nietzsche referred to himself as
Schopenhauer’s opposite (EH, The Untimely Ones §3). However, Soll (1988)
argues quite convincingly that there is considerable similarity. For a start, he
makes the point that Nietzsche’s reference to the ‘truly existent primal unity’
indicates that Nietzsche had accepted and was working with Schopenhauer’s
revision of Kant’s theory. Soll differentiates between three aspects of pessimism:
the descriptive aspect, a negative view that in human existence pain and suffering
predominate over pleasure and satisfaction; an evaluative aspect, which provides
an assessment of the overall value of life based on that description; and a
recommendatory aspect which suggests how to deal with that evaluation; for
example, to withdraw or to embrace suffering. In the preface to the Birth of
Tragedy, added as a self-criticism fourteen years after its original publication,
Nietzsche distinguishes between a ‘pessimism of strength’ and a ‘pessimism of
weakness’ as a means of distancing himself from Schopenhauer’s resignation to a
negative valuation of life. This distinction is picked up by Soll (1988) to argue the
similarity between Schopenhauer and Nietzsche:
The pessimism of the weak describes life dominated by suffering and infers
from this that life has no value, that one should avoid it as much as possible.
The pessimism of the strong describes life in the same way, but still holds it
to be valuable and recommends living fully. In as much as Nietzsche takes
both to be versions of pessimism, he implicitly locates the essence of
pessimism in what the two have in common, i.e., in their descriptive rather
than evaluative or recommendatory aspects (Soll, 1988, p. 124).
In positing that there are forms of pessimism, Nietzsche identifies the essence of
pessimism with the descriptive view of existence, and not with its evaluation or the
recommendation about how one should live. In his later writing he sometimes
slips away from this distinction and vehemently rejects Schopenhauer.
Nevertheless, his pessimism of the strong and of the weak, although they diverge in
both their evaluative and recommendatory aspects, are based in a similar
description of life: a description, according to Soll, shared not only by Nietzsche
and Schopenhauer, but also by the Greek tragedy that inspired Nietzsche.
Amid the pessimism of nineteenth century German philosophy, life was a
continuous struggle – an ideal beginning for Nietzsche’s counter-nihilistic
philosophy. Without the need for Hegel’s “dialectical apparatus” (Tanner, 1994, p.
9), Nietzsche steps outside the struggle with nihilism and challenges himself to
derive a practical morality from his Schopenhauerian ideal – what he calls a ‘chain
of fulfillable duties’. He recognises the danger of setting an unreachable ideal and
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CHAPTER 2
wonders if it is possible to bring such an elevated goal close enough while it still
draws us aloft; in other words, to demonstrate how the Schopenhauerian ideal
educates. The practical duties deriving from this picture involved the advancement
of culture through the production of Schopenhauerian man:
For we know what culture is. Applied to the Schopenhauerian man, it
demands that we prepare and promote his repeated production by getting to
know what is inimical to it and removing it – in short, that we unwearyingly
combat that which would deprive us of the supreme fulfilment of our
existence by preventing us from becoming such Schopenhauerian men
ourselves (UM III §5).
CULTURE AND THE GENIUS
Schacht (1995) argues that for Nietzsche, culture is the sphere in which human
animality takes on a spiritual dimension. What is to be promoted is the
introduction to, and participation in, cultural life. Nietzsche’s exhortation to
become yourself is to be understood not as a call to return to nature or to intensify
one’s subjectivity, but rather as an appeal to ascend to culture, and to contribute
what one can to its enrichment. What distinguishes man from animal for Nietzsche
is our ability to catch a glimpse of ourselves on the path towards man as something
high above us. Nietzsche sees nature as needing knowledge for its own redemption
and self-enlightenment – the intellect in the service of the will; and yet man spends
most of his time trying to escape awareness of his wretched predicament, by
focusing on the State, on science, on making money or on being sociable. It is only
rare men who emerge from the dreamlike state and lift us up. These rare men are,
for Nietzsche, no longer animal, but true men: the philosophers, artists and saints.
It is they who create the new metaphors of life; it is through them that Nature is
transformed, through the promotion of culture:
It is the fundamental idea of culture, insofar as it sets for each one of us but
one task: to promote the production of the philosopher the artist and the saint
within us and without us and thereby to work at the perfecting of nature. For,
as nature needs the philosopher, so does it need the artist, for the achievement
of a metaphysical goal, that of its own self-enlightenment, so that it may at
last behold as a clear and finished picture that which it could see only
obscurely in the agitation of its evolution – for the end, that is to say, of selfknowledge
(UM III §5).
Nietzsche even established criteria for assessing culture. His five lectures
suggest three graduated scales: first the need for philosophy; second the instinct for
art; and third, the regard for Greek and Roman antiquity. By these criteria, he
judged contemporary German culture to be sadly lacking, with too heavy an
emphasis on technicism, empirical science and earning money. He saw his own
philosophy as not congruent with the fashion of the day, the mismatch
encapsulated in the title of his essay collection Untimely Meditations (also
translated as Unfashionable Observations or Thoughts out of Season), emphasising
the degree to which Nietzsche saw himself as unconventional.
20
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
Nietzsche argues against the major utilitarian principles, against sacrifice for the
good of the State or community, and thereby against social ideals as a guiding
philosophy. He compares man to animal and plant species in singling out
individual higher exemplars as the goal of existence. In his lectures, he defines the
task of mankind not as achieving equality or uniformity, but as working continually
at the production of individual great men. Although the botanical idea of species
improvement is useful in understanding the generic nature of man as a ‘type’ rather
than as specific individuals winning some competition, we must be careful not to
include him in any Darwinian metaphor of evolutionary survival. He was often
hostile about Darwin’s ideas – especially as they related to mere ‘survival’ (as
opposed to ‘flourishing’), and was concerned more with nature as a cultural
project. In what he terms a ‘metaphysics of genius’, Nietzsche adopts the
metaphor of the nurturing mother to locate the origins of genius not in educational
competition, but in a commitment to culture:
For the genius to make his appearance; for him to emerge from among the
people; to portray the reflected picture, as it were, the dazzling brilliancy of
the peculiar colours of this people; to depict the noble destiny of a people in
the similitude of an individual in a work which will last for all time, thereby
making his nation itself eternal, and redeeming it from the ever shifting
element of transient things: all this is possible for the genius only when he
has been brought up and come to maturity in the tender care of the culture of
a people (FEI III).
As well as establishing as a goal the active promotion of culture and the
production of genius, Nietzsche also requires hostility towards those influences,
habits, laws and institutions which militate against that goal. He claimed that the
pseudo-culture of his time not only failed to promote men of culture, but actively
stood in their way. Lessing, Winckelmann, Schiller and Goethe were
compromised by German culture:
Who can tell to what these heroic men were destined to attain if only that true
German spirit had gathered them together within the protecting walls of a
powerful institution? – that spirit which, without the help of some such
institution, drags out an isolated, debased, and degraded existence. All those
great men were utterly ruined; and it is only an insane belief in the Hegelian
‘reasonableness of all happenings’ which would absolve you of any
responsibility in the matter (FEI IV).
The influences identified by Nietzsche as hostile to the promotion of culture are
the commercial interests of individuals and the State, the use of fashion and ritual
to disguise a nihilistic culture, and a tendency towards control by the sciences.
Each of these factors appropriates the idea of culture for its own ends and in return
imposes its own parameters for cultural regeneration.
Making the link between wealth and the popular conception of culture,
Nietzsche offers an insight that foreshadows theories of ‘instrumental rationality’
or ‘economic rationalism’ that underpin today’s market economy. He refers to the
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CHAPTER 2
currency value of human life as he identifies the chain of conclusions inherent in
the commercial production of education:
As much knowledge and education as possible, therefore as much demand as
possible, therefore as much production as possible, therefore as much
happiness and profit as possible – that is the seductive formula (UM III §6).
Nietzsche claims that such learning has more to do with the ‘currency value’ of
human life than with culture, and his critique of educational institutions draws
heavily on this differentiation. While not denying that individuals must learn to
take part in the struggle for existence, he argues that all the present institutions are
engaged in producing currency rather than culture, and that there is a need for a
new type of institution, one that can focus on culture. He was not arguing against
the existence of technical schools or the need for a certain degree of cultural
reproduction through such trade training. Rather, he advocated the emergence of
preparatory ground for those with higher aspirations.
However, the State must not be the chief sponsor of culture and must not take
charge of any project that would claim to be ‘true’ education either. The problem
for Nietzsche with the State’s involvement is that it recognises as culture only what
is directly useful to the State itself, purging itself of anything that doesn’t serve the
interests of existing institutions. It follows then that State-controlled education was
not conducive to the promotion of culture and would have no imperative to
promote individual great men. It would instead become a means of self
propagation for the State. Nietzsche warns that the resulting enfeeblement of
education would no longer confer privileges or inspire respect, and we may even
finish up with the most general form of culture – barbarism. Nietzsche took a
pragmatic view of modern politics in that he adopted a ‘pitiful toleration’ of the
State’s need to foster pseudo-culture to help in the difficult task of governing:
to keep law, order, quietness, and peace among millions of boundlessly
egoistical, unjust, unreasonable, dishonourable, envious, malignant, and
hence very narrow minded and perverse human beings; and thus to protect
the few things that the State has conquered for itself against covetous
neighbours and jealous robbers (FEI III).
In contrast, he admired the early Greek State and referred to it as ‘the only real
home of culture’, in that it provided a protected environment in which the germ of
culture could develop. The State acted not as supervisor, regulator and watchman;
but as a vigorous and muscular companion and friend, ready for war,
accompanying his noble friend through disagreeable reality. According to
Nietzsche, culture is subverted not only by the self promotion of the State, but also
by the tendency of contemporary man to cover up the ugliness and boredom of life
with the beautified form of fashion and ceremony:
For that is how the fashionable greed for beautiful form is connected with the
ugly content of contemporary man: the former is intended to conceal, the
latter to be concealed. To be cultivated means: to hide from oneself how
wretched and base one is, how rapacious in going for what one wants, how
22
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
insatiable in heaping it up, how shameless and selfish in enjoying it (UM III
§6).
Nietzsche also criticises narrow specialisation in education as a deviation from
the path of true culture. In that way, his early essays portray science as similar to
religion in destroying learning and exploiting man for its own purposes. He argues
that scientific education precludes classical education, suggesting that the spheres
of science and culture often meet but are never reconciled. Behind Nietzsche’s
polemical critique of science and its men of learning is his suspicion of the
apparent neutrality of science, and his concerns about the scientists’ disregard for
the aesthetics of life, their narrow conventional approach, and the self-serving
nature of the community to which they belong. His analysis of the role of science
makes derogatory reference to ‘pure, impulseless knowledge’ and ‘servants of
truth’, and argues that geniuses and scholars have at all times been at odds with one
another, since the scholar wants to kill, dissect and understand nature. In contrast,
the genius wants to augment nature.
In response to the oppressive social and intellectual climate, Nietzsche was quite
clear that the time was not right for the production of the genius, and that the
proclaimed interest in furthering culture by the State, by the money-makers and by
the men of science was merely self interest and self-affirmation, and a purely
instrumental attempt to define culture in a way that would sustain an inadequate
status quo.
In contrast with Nietzsche’s aristocratic notion of ‘true culture’, the idea of
emancipation for the masses characterises what he sees as the worthless character
of modern education, in that it is an attempt to democratise the rights of the genius
and to overthrow ‘the most sacred hierarchy in the kingdom of the intellect’: the
servitude of the masses, their submissive obedience, and their instinct of loyalty to
the rule of genius:
The education of the masses cannot, therefore, be our aim; but rather the
education of a few picked men for great and lasting works. We well know
that a just posterity judges the collective intellectual state of a time only by
those few great and lonely figures of the period, and gives its decision in
accordance with the manner in which they are recognised, encouraged, and
honoured, or, on the other hand, in which they are snubbed, elbowed aside,
and kept down (FEI III).
He argues that great leaders are necessary, and that all culture begins with
obedience, with subordination, with discipline, with subjection14
. He talks of an
‘eternal hierarchy’ and a ‘pre-established harmony’ in which leaders must have
followers and followers must have a leader. His model here is the transformation
of a weary sounding orchestra when a genius is substituted for a spiritless
conductor.
14 Although out of fashion today, such vocabulary could accurately describe today’s system of modern
apprenticeships with their subordination and obedience to a master tradesman.
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CHAPTER 2
It is as if this genius, in his lightning transmigration, had entered into these
mechanical, lifeless bodies, and as if only one demoniacal eye gleamed forth
out of them all. Now look and listen – you can never listen enough! When
you again observe the orchestra, now loftily storming, now fervently wailing,
when you notice the quick tightening. of every muscle and the rhythmical
necessity of every gesture, then you too will feel what a pre-established
harmony there is between leader and followers, and how in the hierarchy of
spirits everything impels us towards the establishment of a like organisation.
You can divine from my simile what I would understand by a true
educational institution, and why I am very far from recognising one in the
present type of university (FEI V).
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS
According to Nietzsche, calls for academic freedom and massed education
undermine true culture, promoting instead an ‘unoriginal decent average’ and
‘uniform mediocrity’, in which everybody is regarded as gifted for literature and
considered as capable of holding important opinions. Although an elevated destiny
is only available to a small elite, Nietzsche still advocates a mass commitment to
the project of culture:
Here lies the whole secret of culture — namely, that an innumerable host of
men struggle to achieve it and work hard to that end, ostensibly in their own
interests, whereas at bottom it is only in order that it may be possible for the
few to attain to it (FEI I).
It is important to note that Nietzsche does not want to destroy existing
institutions or to undermine the role they serve in disciplined training. He saw
these institutions as living monuments of important steps in the progress of
civilisation or as furniture of a bygone age, although preserved in his notion of
Bildung (TI, What the Germans Lack §5). What he wanted was something over
and above the existing schools, institutions that would focus on the development of
culture. Education would have to move beyond the State-driven reproduction of
scholars, civil servants, money-makers and cultural philistines, a path which he
saw as difficult and likely to marginalise the solitary philosopher who championed
such a revolution. The only example Nietzsche cites as an attempt to create one of
these new institutions is the Burschenschaft, a German students’ association
founded at Jena in the early nineteenth century, to promote truth, honour and
freedom within a patriotic tradition.
The role of the new educational institution would be to provide support and
protection for those committed to his idea of culture. He talked of a new order of
schools as the ‘consecrated home of all higher and nobler culture’, where the
dedicated few could prepare within themselves and around them for the birth of the
genius and the ripening of his work. What this meant in practice was to assemble
the free spirits of the age together and introduce them to Schopenhauer’s
philosophy. Such a move required withstanding social opinion and religious
dogma, and becoming aware of the political distortions embedded in normalised
24
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
concepts such as ‘progress’, ‘universal education’, ‘national’, ‘cultural struggle’
and the ‘modern state’. Although Schopenhauer’s name might occupy the headline
on Nietzsche’s agenda, it is, nevertheless, clearly Nietzsche’s own philosophy that
is being advanced in his eulogising of Schopenhauer.
In line with the great importance he placed on our educators of the past and in
keeping with his background as a philologist, Nietzsche advocated discipline in the
mother tongue as the path to real culture and aesthetic judgments. He saw such
discipline and habit as the means to inculcate a feeling for the greatness of the
classical writers and a respect for the culture of ancient Greece. It was this feeling
that is encapsulated in his plea for recognition of the ‘true German spirit’:
linked to the Greeks by the noblest ties, and shown by its past history to have
been steadfast and courageous, pure and lofty in its aims, its faculties
qualifying it for the high task of freeing modern man from the curse of
modernity (FEI IV).
Again we find Nietzsche trying to liberate man from the strictures of fashion
and convention, this time through his awareness of the defining power of language
as a cultural medium. He criticised the ornate style of literary men and the
elegance of journalists as unsuitable for the cultural leadership role they were
trying to play, as they were merely ‘servants of the moment’. There was no hope
for a higher notion of education through State-funded efforts either. In his early
lectures on education (FEI), Nietzsche saw the State as necessarily furthering its
own interests in terms of maximising the utility value of its citizens and promoting
a culture that would enhance government.
Tanner (1994) observes that one of the characteristics of nineteenth century
German philosophy was the idea of adversarial opposition, in which the outcome is
more fruitful than anything that could be produced by either of the opponents going
it alone. Nietzsche’s philosophy is no exception, involving opposition between the
instinctual, amoral energy of Dionysus and the ordered and beautiful form of
Apollo, the non rational versus the civilised, the wild versus the refined. Of special
importance to him was the notion of overcoming adversity, leading some
commentators (e.g., Salomé, 1988) to suggest that his philosophy may have been
driven by a lifelong personal struggle against his illness. Whether driven by
personal circumstance or not, it is this personal struggle and self-overcoming that
typifies Nietzsche’s later formulation of the Übermensch or ‘overman’ concept15.
Kaufmann (1974) dispels the myth of Nietzsche’s overman as manifesting hostility
and violence, preferring instead the explanation of Übermensch as an overcoming
of adverse conditions and an attempt to realise his own unique individuality.
Nietzsche’s early admiration for Schopenhauer seems to have been driven in
part by his respect for the adverse conditions Schopenhauer faced up to and
overcame, including a ‘culturally pretentious’ mother. Nietzsche notes among the
15 The term Übermensch is preferred here to its various translations (commonly ‘overman’ or
‘superman’), since the English words carry their own connotations not present in the German text.
English terms are used, however, where the intentions of a cited author are more accurately
represented, or where distinction between interpretations is required – particularly where a sense of
‘overcoming’ is intended.
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CHAPTER 2
positive qualities that allowed Schopenhauer to rigorously maintain his path: the
rugged manly character of his father; his focus on men rather than books; reverence
for truth and not government; his international experience; his dislike for a strong
state; his refusal to be involved in politics; his ability to recognise the genius in
himself and others; his financial independence; and especially, his freedom. His
lack of training as a scholar was also celebrated by Nietzsche. These qualities not
only allowed Nietzsche to celebrate Schopenhauer as aspiring Übermensch, but
also described much of the predicament Nietzsche himself had to overcome to find
freedom in his own life, lending some credence to Nietzsche’s own later
observation that his early essay was autobiography.
For Nietzsche though, there is little likelihood of freedom in the modern state
and he questions whether truth is being served when the freedom of philosophers in
universities might be compromised by the politics involved in their need to earn a
living. In this respect, he even points the finger at Kant as a university scholar for
being cautious and subservient. In contrast, he saw early Greek philosophers as
free from such state control as they were not paid by the State, and regrets that
there would be no place for a Plato or a Schopenhauer in the modern university.
While his criticism of state control of philosophy includes the problem of the
wage-earning relationship, his difficulties with the State go deeper than that. He
has ideological concerns with Hegel’s argument that the State was the highest
good, in that a philosopher employed by the State must acknowledge as higher than
truth, the good of the State and everything the State considers necessary for its own
wellbeing: for example, a certain form of religion, a particular social order or
military regulations. Where raw truth may not be in the state’s best interest, he
suggests the state may have better use for half truth or even error:
If, however, a man should arise who really gave the impression of intending
to apply the scalpel of truth to all things, including the body of the State, then
the state would, since it affirms its own existence before all else, be justified
in expelling such a man and treating him as an enemy: just as it expels and
treats as an enemy a religion which sets itself above the state and desires to
be its judge (UM III §8).
Nietzsche also objects to other aspects of university-based philosophy, including
control over selection of academic staff, and what today might be called curriculum
delivery and content. Such control for Nietzsche actively prevents the production
of the genius and takes the human spirit out of philosophy. Of particular concern
to him is the degree to which philosophy has been taken over by science, so that it
no longer bears any relationship to life. In short, he fears that the whole of
philosophy is being diminished and advocates the separation of philosophy from
the State and from the academy. Where Nietzsche wants to go with philosophy is
to establish a higher tribunal where pure philosophy would act as a cultural judge,
and supervise the educational institutions free of the Zeitgeist, and without official
authority or salary.
He sees that philosophy under the yoke of the university has no dignity or fire,
and is no longer ‘dangerous’. At the conclusion of his essay on Schopenhauer,
26
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATION
Nietzsche makes a final plea for the importance of philosophy and its need to be
powerful and fearsome:
‘Beware’, says Emerson, ‘when the great God lets loose a thinker on this
planet. Then all things are at risk.’ It is as when a conflagration has broken
out in a great city, and no man knows what is safe, or where it will end (UM
III §8).
Although much of Nietzsche’s explicit focus on education was in the early years
of his writing, one of his last published works (TI) carries his assessment of the
German ‘character’, in which he claims that the Germans have distanced
themselves from serious intellectual pursuit, and achieved a mediocrity instead.
With the State’s intensified focus on power, politics, economic affairs,
parliamentary institutions and military interests, Nietzsche laments the
degeneration of German education, which, he says, has lost not only its proper
focus – culture; but also, with one or two exceptions, the means of achieving it –
educated teachers. As institutions, he sees the higher schools (their teachers, their
curricula and their instructional aims) involved in the efficient ‘breaking-in’ of
numberless young men for the future service of the State.
Against that horror, Nietzsche contrasts his vision of education, reiterating his
early concern with culture as the focus:
I shall straightaway set down the three tasks for the sake of which one
requires educators. One has to learn to see, one has to learn to think, one has
to learn to speak and write: the end in all three is a noble culture (TI, What
the Germans Lack §6).
However, this is not just a reference to the physical or maturational aspects of
seeing and thinking, or to the technical aspects of speaking and writing.
Encapsulated within the word ‘seeing’ is the training of the ‘eye’ to patience, the
exercise of a ‘strong will-power’, and the ability to defer final decisions. The
argument is against the urgency of modern ‘objectivity’ in favour of a learner who
is ‘slow’, ‘mistrustful’, and ‘resistant’; a learner who, “in an attitude of hostile
calm one will allow the strange, the novel, of every kind to approach one first – one
will draw one’s hand back from it” (ibid.). Similarly, learning to think is seen as
needing not only instruction and mastery, but also the intellectual ‘light feet’ – a
dexterity that comes from understanding subtle nuances, so that thinking might be
conducted as a form of dancing, rather than the plodding mediocrity that
characterised much of scholarly life.
Obviously some of Nietzsche’s commentary is specific to his personal
circumstance and the political era in which he is writing, but significant themes can
be seen as relevant to today’s educators. Nietzsche’s writing about education is
quite concise, although to assess its relevance, allowance must be made for a
cultural shift away from nineteenth century socialist trends and away from the
German preoccupation of the period with such constructs as ‘character’ and
‘spirit’. Similar allowance must be made for linguistic transformation on
interpreting what we would now see as archaic references to terms such as ‘genius’
and the ‘saint’, along with the inevitable strangeness of expression that emerges in
27
CHAPTER 2
translating across different languages. Despite these cultural and linguistic
differences though, it is possible to assemble a coherent statement that reflects
Nietzsche’s ideas, while at the same time having relevance to today’s educational
project.
From the preceding discussion, a number of themes emerge from Nietzsche’s
perspective on education, not as discreet entities but as interdependent aspects of
an overall philosophy. In effect, for Nietzsche, a normative view of education is
based on a full experience of life, with an overriding concern for the strengthening
of culture as a way of elevating nature, including embracing our non-rational
humanity. Exemplary figures are to be admired and emulated, with the artist, the
philosopher and the saint as metaphors representing the ability and the courage to
go beyond current strictures – both internal and external. At the level of the
individual, it is important to allow for and encourage the promotion of individual
difference, especially in the emergence of individual greatness (the ‘genius’)
without subjecting that emergence to the levelling of egalitarian ideals. For
education to follow its natural path, it must be outside of state control and go
beyond not only the service of the State, but also beyond the strictures of scientific
knowledge or economic rationality as its raison d’être. From within an oppressive
culture, intellectual independence requires a rebellious spirit to challenge the
disabling aspects of tradition and custom and to face up to hardship with honesty
and a cheerful disposition. To conduct oneself along this difficult individual path
while at the same time building a strong culture obviously requires attention to the
mode of communication, and thus Nietzsche’s emphasis on a disciplined ability to
think, speak and write.
Much of the above vision is encapsulated in Nietzsche’s figure of the
Übermensch, and that through the continuous engagement with facing up to and
overcoming difficulties, such a figure provides an ethical basis from which to
address the sometimes competing interests of individual and society. Nietzsche
makes the call for freedom for the gifted individual, a call that on the one hand
might be seen as merely a plea for his own recognition, but that on the other hand
might be viewed more expansively as a call for cultural enrichment, in harmony
with the development of exceptional individuals. His call is seen as a useful
starting place in developing an educational philosophy that attends to ethical issues
in education, although the early explication of his educational thinking cannot be
divorced from the social and political developments that nurtured the philosophical
period in which Nietzsche flourished. To this end, the next chapter focuses on the
period in European intellectual history that formed the backdrop for Nietzsche’s
awakening.
28
CHAPTER 3
NIETZSCHE, THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN
IDEALISM
NIETZSCHE’S RELATIONSHIP WITH EARLIER PHILOSOPHERS
This chapter explores selected aspects of the philosophical period that preceded
and nurtured the development of Nietzsche’s philosophy. It argues that an
understanding of German Idealism, and in particular of Kant and Schopenhauer, is
crucial to an appreciation of Nietzsche’s commitment to explanations of the ‘self’
as a dynamic process of becoming rather than as a centred ‘being’. Such an
understanding also sheds light on Nietzsche’s rejection of universal reason as the
basis for moral goodness, and thus on his critique of the basis of liberal education.
‘German Idealism’ was not, however, a stand-alone period or event in Europe.
Rather, one analyst argues, “[its] aims and problems become intelligible only in the
context of the Enlightenment or Aufklärung, which had dominated intellectual life
in Germany since the middle of the eighteenth century” (Ameriks, 2000, p. 18).
This chapter begins then, by locating Nietzsche in relation to other philosophical
developments. This is followed by an interpretive genealogy of Enlightenment
thinking as a groundwork for the transcendental idealism of Kant and its nemesis in
Nietzsche’s critique of morality.
Nietzsche was at pains to portray himself as standing outside the philosophical
fashions of his time – an ‘untimely’ thinker and a ‘free spirit’ preparing the way for
the “philosophers of the future” (BGE §44). However, his ideas did not arise
spontaneously in an intellectual vacuum. He engaged with contemporary thinkers,
both inside and outside philosophy, in an intense and sustained manner. Small
(2001) traces Nietzsche’s engagement with the theories of his contemporaries as
the context for the development of some of his key ideas. Significant among these
are the theories of Spir and Dühring about ‘time’ in relation to Nietzsche’s theme
of eternal recurrence, Teichmüller’s published work on ‘perspectivism’ in relation
to Nietzsche’s radical perspectivism, and Nietzsche’s focus on scientific concepts
such as explanation, causality and atomism in relation to mechanistic models of
science prevalent in his day.
Paul Rée, another of Nietzsche’s contemporaries, exerted a strong influence on
Nietzsche’s genealogy of morality with his publication The Origin of the Moral
Sensations (Rée, 2003), providing a naturalistic explanation for what counts as
morality, and attributing the derivation of concepts such as ‘goodness’ and ‘justice’
to tribal survival and social utility, although having long since forgotten their social
origins. Rée’s portrayal, like Nietzsche’s later genealogy of morality (GM),
includes a genealogy of ‘justice’ brought about through punishment. The
similarity was marked enough for one publisher to advertise Nietzsche as “a
29
CHAPTER 3
follower of Rée’s philosophical programme” (Rée, 2003, p. xxviii). Even a letter
from Nietzsche concedes that his own book Human – All Too Human might be a
work of “Réealism” (ibid.), although Nietzsche’s treatment of morality was more
radical than Rée’s, incorporating the aspect of power and outdoing Rée in the
extent of depravity he saw in traditional morality. This is not to belittle
Nietzsche’s creativity, so much as to show that “his independence and originality
developed in dialogue with other thinkers… [and can be] appreciated all the more
by being placed in the context of his relations to other philosophers” (Small, 2001,
p. 1).
Obviously, Nietzsche did not rely solely on his contemporaries. Nineteenth
century German philosophy emerged in the shadow of Kant, whose critiques
provided contexts in which such dialogue could take place, and whose ideas were
the focus of much of Nietzsche’s criticism. Nietzsche read widely and his work
portrays many other influences, notably Hegel and Schopenhauer; with his
musician friend and onetime mentor, Richard Wagner, also significant in the
development of the young Nietzsche’s romantic patriotism. Even though
Nietzsche was later explicit in rejecting his intellectual predecessors, they still
continued to influence his thinking, eventually as models of inadequacy against
which to contrast his own thought16.
Before Nietzsche’s time, Western Renaissance artists had already shifted their
attention away from the heavenly realm, to a general renewal and rebirth of interest
in the dignity and inherent value of man. The move was reflected in the political,
religious and social institutions of the period, particularly in the arts and in
philosophy. Typical was the architectural shift away from ornate Gothic cathedrals
with spires pointing heavenwards, to a resurgence of interest in neoclassical forms;
particularly the Roman arch (Hale, 1965) as a signifier of worldly humanism.
Although the church maintained its patronage, the Renaissance had seen a growing
tendency towards secularisation of musical production, with the focus on
entertainment as much as worship (Wold & Cykler, 1985).
The end of the 15th century had seen developments in printing technology and a
corresponding erosion of the authority of medieval scholars and theologians. The
dominant intellectual movement of the Renaissance was humanism, a philosophy
that emphasised the dignity and worth of the individual based on the idea that
people are rational beings with the capacity for truth and goodness. The
Renaissance saw a revival of Greek and Roman studies with a focus on sensory
rather than religious experience.17 The medieval religious view of the world was
supplanted by a mechanistic model as the physical sciences assumed a more
dominant role in explaining the universe. Copernicus proposed the solar system
with the Sun at the centre of the earth’s revolution, challenging Ptolemy’s model
16 As late as 1888, Nietzsche devotes a whole paper (with postscripts and epilogue) to his earlier
“Wagnerizing” (CW: Preface), i.e. his devotion to the decadence and sickness inherent in “all
modern humaneness” (ibid.) and epitomised by Wagner and Schopenhauer.
17 Nietzsche’s first book (BT), published in 1872, echoed Renaissance calls to the classical period,
celebrating the ancient Greek embrace of tragedy, valorising Dionysian revelry as a tonic for
religious conformity and Apollonian social graces.
30
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
which had prevailed as wisdom since the 2nd century (Distante, 2000), lending his
name to Kant’s later critique of pure reason as a ‘Copernican Revolution’.
In the development of humanism and modernity, liberal thought promoted the
dignity of humanity, incorporating the twin threads of freedom and equality. The
rise of literacy, growing affluence, and the spread of publishing facilitated the
emergence of a “secular intelligentsia” (Porter, 1990) able to challenge the clergy’s
proprietary rights to power through knowledge. Nineteenth century German
philosophy was to a large extent underpinned by the Cartesian framework
(Bracken, 1999), by Kant’s metaphysics as a continuation of Enlightenment
philosophy and the improvement of the human condition through reasoned thought
(Ameriks, 1999). Through the work of such philosophers as Descartes and Kant,
feudal allegiances, religious fundamentalism and the divine right of kings gave
way to the ideal of the rational human being as the basis for ethical responsibility.
After centuries of Christian monotheism, it is not surprising that the individual
‘person’ that evolved from the Cartesian cogito (through Kantian reason into
modernity) was an individuated entity. The rational ‘self’ is the subject of
modernity and of Enlightenment thought, and so evolved as the focus for education
in Western society. Based on the idea of the reasoned will, the Kantian subject is
supposedly capable of free choice and moral autonomy.
ENLIGHTENMENT
‘The Enlightenment’ is a term used to describe the trends in Western intellectual
thought up to the end of the eighteenth century, typified by challenges to scripture
and the classics as traditional sources of authority, and a growing reliance on
reason as the basis for knowledge – reason “unhampered by belief in revelation, by
submission to authority, by deference to established customs and institutions”
(Copleston, 1958, p. 34). The term ‘enlightenment’ is often used to signify an
emergence from centuries of darkness and ignorance into a new age enlightened by
reason and science. Kant, for example, depicted ‘enlightenment’ as the public use
of reason, as freedom from religious or monarchial authority, and as overcoming
‘laziness and cowardice’ as a means of release from ‘man’s self-incurred tutelage’:
Tutelage is man’s inability to make use of his understanding without
direction from another. Self incurred is this tutelage when its cause lies not
in lack of reason but in lack of resolution and courage to use it without
direction from another. Sapere aude!18 ‘Have courage to use your own
reason!’ – that is the motto of enlightenment (Kant, 1990, p. 83).
Although reason is often seen as a central value, many commentators (e.g.,
Copleston, 1958; 1960; Hampson, 1968; Porter, 1990; Inwood, 1995; Marshall,
1996a; Popkin, 1999) argue for a more expansive view of the Enlightenment. They
highlight values like autonomy, freedom, equality, curiosity and scepticism, and
political ideas like reform, citizenship and democracy. The broad picture includes
18 ‘Dare to be wise!’ The footnote in the 1990 edition notes the original source as Horace’s Ars Poetica
and that this was the motto adopted by the society of the Friends of Truth – an important circle in the
German Enlightenment.
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CHAPTER 3
themes as diverse as Kant’s autonomy, Goethe’s caution about the limits of
knowledge, Rousseau’s attack on the idea of progress, and the location of moral
development in personal relationships rather than abstract principles (à la
Rousseau and Hume). Rather than limiting the Enlightenment to themes such as
the progress of society and the liberation of human beings through their use of
reason, the Enlightenment might be conceptualised as broadly as a “defence of
difference” (Marshall, 1996a, p. 175).
Despite the slightly tongue-in-cheek conjecture that “the Enlightenment was
what one thinks it was” (Hampson, 1968, p. 9), there was a view of humanity as
freeing itself from prejudice and superstition with a “beneficent Providence” (ibid.,
p. 155) regulating the course of nature. Hampson suggests that, with its focal point
in the salon where men and women enjoyed each other’s company and combined
intellectual speculation with bienséance, the Enlightenment was an ‘attitude of
mind’ rather than a course in science or philosophy; that the Enlightenment was a
release from “centuries of baronial oppression and ecclesiastical superstition”
(ibid., p. 149); and that in its popular appeal, “the age might more accurately be
described as one of reasonableness than of reason”19 (ibid., p. 157).
Proponents of Enlightenment thought shared a general commitment to
criticising injustice; to emancipating man through knowledge, education and
science from the chains of ignorance, error, superstition and theological dogma; to
instilling a new mood of hope for a better future; and to practical action for
creating greater prosperity, fairer laws, milder government, religious tolerance,
intellectual freedom, expert administration and heightened individual selfawareness
(Porter, 1990). A flavour of the Enlightenment might be gleaned from
its legacy for Western society in the inheritance of ideals of popular sovereignty,
equality before the law, and liberalism (Inwood, 1995). Porter (1990) sees
exponents of the Enlightenment20 as men of the world: journalists, propagandists,
activists, seeking not just to understand the world but to change it – a dangerous
business in the face of punitive countermeasures taken against those undermining
church and political authority21.
Although commentators might concur on some general themes in Enlightenment
thought, it is not clear exactly where the boundaries lay in terms of who was
involved or to what extent. Porter (1990) takes exception to Peter Gay’s depiction
of the Enlightenment as the work of a small group of European and North
American people who were familiar with each other’s efforts: the Frenchmen –
19 Hampson points out that it was this very reasonableness that was soon to “provoke the scorn of the
Sturm und Drang movement in Germany, of Rousseau and eventually of Romantics everywhere, as
a denial of inspiration and of individual genius” (Hampson, 1968, p. 158). This theme was a feature
of Nietzsche’s admiration for Schopenhauer.
20 Porter (1990) notes that although they called themselves ‘philosophers’, their activity would not
align with what is seen as philosophy today. Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie defined the
philosophe as one who:
trampling on prejudice, tradition, universal consent, authority, in a word, all that enslaves
most minds, dares to think for himself (Porter, 1990, p. 3)
21 See for example, Foucault (1977) for a detailed description of the treatment meted out to one
deemed guilty.
32
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
Montesquieu, Voltaire, Diderot, d’Alembert, Turgot and Condorcet; the Britons –
Hume and Gibbon; Rousseau from Geneva; German-born d’Holbach, Kant and
Herder; and the American Benjamin Franklin. Such a limited historical analysis
subscribes to the ‘great men’ theory, ignoring the rise in articulate and literate
culture throughout Europe that would have paved the way for such change.
As contributors to an edited collection of essays on the history of Western
philosophy (Popkin, 1999), a number of writers suggest that the Enlightenment was
a broader movement than this small band of acquaintances. For example, Manfred
Kuehn dubs Moses Mendelssohn, a contemporary of Kant, “leader of the
Enlightenment in Germany” (p. 475) for his efforts to reconcile religious belief and
aesthetics with the ideals of reason. Although Rousseau’s philosophy of ‘nature’ is
generally associated with the Romanticist movement, Popkin (p. 470) argues that
Rousseau’s scepticism also added something to the critical tenor of the
Enlightenment in France. In the same edited collection, Bracken (p. 485) talks of
the ‘Scottish Enlightenment’ and the contribution of Frances Hutcheson, Thomas
Reid and Adam Smith to the development of Scottish ‘common sense’22. Others
who were to have various levels of contribution to Enlightenment thought include
the earlier rationalists (Descartes, Spinoza and Leibniz), the physical scientists
(Copernicus and the later Isaac Newton), the empiricist Condillac, and political and
moral philosophers John Locke and Adam Ferguson. Thus ‘the Enlightenment’
might be interpreted as a populist evolutionary movement across a broad front as
much as a spearhead of intellectual radicalism23.
The Enlightenment marked a key stage in the decline of the church and the
growth of modern secularism. It also provided a basis for political and economic
liberalism and for humanitarian reform. However, the secular spirit of the
Enlightenment by no means put an end to religion. Rather, religious concerns were
displaced – at least among the rich and well educated – from the centre of life to
the periphery (Gay, 1966, p. 31). Gay attributes this evolution in religious thought
to the seventeenth century Platonists, a small group of clergymen and academics at
Cambridge University, who proposed to settle doctrinal differences between
various religious sects by reducing the Christian message to a few relatively simple
and reasonable tenets. Christianity was, they said, “essentially the practice of
reason, the exercise of virtue, and mystical contemplation” (ibid., p. 32). Reason
and faith were not contradictory, but mutually enhancing, with religious instruction
able to provide a rational basis for ethical conduct. As critics, the philosophes
were exclusively neither ‘rationalist’ nor ‘irrationalist’:
22 Burchell (1991) argues that the Scottish Enlightenment was concomitant with the development of
civil society, ‘natural liberty’ and an “individualising art of government” (p. 122), in which Adam
Smith promoted economic egoism (the ‘invisible hand’) in the belief that:
no sovereign, no ‘single person, … council or senate’ can ‘safely be trusted’ with the
authority over the pursuit of private interest (p. 133).
23 Porter (1990) cites the work of a recent author, Margaret Jacob, who argues for the existence of a
radical Enlightenment before the ‘classic’ Enlightenment associated with Montesquieu and Voltaire.
This chapter’s interest in the Enlightenment is in relation to German Idealism as the seedbed for
Nietzsche’s work, although it is considered important to note the major impact of the Enlightenment
because of its profound effect on Kant and his followers.
33
CHAPTER 3
They criticised all such simple-minded extremes, because they were above all
critics, aiming to put human intelligence to use as an engine for
understanding human nature, for analysing man as a sociable being, and the
natural environment in which he lived (Porter, 1990, p. 3).
Deistic faith was evident in the work of many Enlightenment philosophers.24
Locke, for example, argued that the proof of God’s existence lay in his visible
works – paving the way for the rationality of empiricism as the basis of knowledge.
Locke’s reasoning is based on two ideas: first, that all knowledge derives from
reasoning about our ideas; and second, that all non-complex ideas originate in
experience (Shand, 1993). He is able to maintain his pious stance, since he does
not call into question any innate (i.e., god-given) principles or truths; for if there
was some innate knowledge, it would have to be true since it is god-given. By
fixing the gaze on experience of external material objects, Locke is able to leave
God in his place while accepting that empirical knowledge is limited in terms of
certainty.
The deists did not deny the existence of God, but saw the whole universe as
testament to his presence and skill as creator: God had created the world, created
laws for its operation, and had then withdrawn to leave his creation to run itself.
The deistic conception of God implied that there were universal moral laws which
all reasonable men could discover. Man was to find religious and moral truth
through his powers of reason, rather than through divine inspiration or clerical
authority. Given the elevation of the status of reason, it is easy to see why deism
still flourished in the age of Enlightenment. However, Gay argues, it was a
philosophically unstable compound of belief and non-belief:
It denied supernatural intervention in the affairs of the universe, but it
affirmed the supernatural existence of God – and its arguments for both
positions were based on reason…. 18th century intellectuals progressed
finally to a disdainful belief that abandoned Christianity entirely and
substituted a good society of men on earth for the kingdom of God in heaven
(Gay, 1966, p. 40).
Voltaire, the prolific French philosopher and polemicist, furthered
Enlightenment thought with his attacks on ecclesiastical wealth and property, on
the Church’s political power and corruption, and on suppression of free thought.
Although he denounced the church and the power of the clergy, he believed in the
existence of God. He rejected the irrational and incomprehensible and called upon
his contemporaries to act against intolerance, tyranny and superstition. His
morality was founded on a belief in freedom of thought and respect for all
individuals (Distante, 2000).
Throughout Rousseau’s work, the individual is charged with following his own
conscience, irrespective of the conventions of a society, since “beneath the selfinterested
sophistication of social man lay natural feelings that were an infallible
guide to moral action” (Hampson, 1968, p. 196). Away from social contamination,
24 Ameriks (2000) includes Fichte, Schelling and Kierkegaard among those whose philosophy was
compatible with a supernatural being.
34
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
man was most likely to hear his ‘inner voice’ and the moral law in his own heart.
This was not, however, to constitute any kind of goodness as a ‘state of nature’,
since in nature there was no morality – no social basis for good and bad:
“By nature men are neither kings, nobles, courtiers, nor millionaires. All
men are born poor and naked, all are liable to the sorrows of life, its
disappointments, its ills, its needs, its suffering of every kind; and all are
condemned at length to die. This is what it really means to be a man, this is
what no mortal can escape. Begin then with the study of the essentials of
humanity, that which really constitutes mankind (Rousseau, 1993, p. 219).
Civilised society was seen to have corrupted the ‘natural state’ of mankind in
the constitution of his intellectual, moral and social being. It was, then, the
function of education to ameliorate this socialisation. Rousseau was not naïve
enough to believe in a return to some idyllic solitude, since without the social there
could be no empathy and no love. Rather, the desired state could only be achieved
through a social contract – an acquiescence to a General Will – a normative notion
of Government that required the dissolution of competing wants in promotion of
the common good. The General Will was to be arrived at through a shared
understanding among citizens about what they believed that common good to be –
not based on their private interests, but on whether or not it conforms to the
“general will which is their own” (Rousseau, cited in Grofman & Feld, 1988, p.
568). Thus the consensus was not a means of combining divergent interests but
rather a quest for ‘truth’, albeit through man’s fallibility. Rousseau believed it was
possible to combine liberty with law by instituting a state in which men could
make the laws they lived under. It would entail “a covenant being made whereby
individuals yielded their natural rights to a sovereign, but that sovereign would be
none other than the people themselves united in one legislative body” (Cranston,
1991, p. 306).
Through a series of autobiographical confessions, Rousseau also posits the ‘self’
as an object of inquiry25 using his own experience as the focus. However, to
delineate the ‘self’ from that which is not the self requires an existential divorce
from ‘the other: that which is “alien and inhospitable” (Marshall, 1996a, p. 166);
resulting in a sense of “deprivation, alienation, and isolation” (ibid., p. 167). At
base, Rousseau’s concerns are familiar: “the need for love and a loving
community, the love of liberty and impatience with servitude, the desire to be
oneself and to find one’s own happiness” (France, 1987, p. 107). Although
espousing the ‘inner voice’ of moral conscience and the value of freedom – and for
this reason often considered Romanticist, Rousseau was still an advocate for
Enlightenment reason: “Reason alone teaches us to know good and evil”
(Rousseau, 1993, p. 39).
25 This was done in a series of autobiographical confessions which were later critiqued and rewritten
during the period from 1765 to 1778 (Marshall, 1996a).
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CHAPTER 3
IDEALISM
Extending Locke's doubts about knowledge of the world outside the mind,
Berkeley argued that there is no evidence for the existence of such a world,
because the only things that one can observe are one's own sensations, and these
are in the mind. Berkeley's idealism mediated against scepticism and atheism, in
that he believed that the limits of what it is intelligible or meaningful to talk about
must refer to something perceivable in our experience (Shand, 1993). David
Hume, the Scottish philosopher, was a strong promoter of scepticism and
empiricism. Influenced by Locke and Berkeley, he claimed that all metaphysical
assertions about things that cannot be directly perceived are meaningless. He went
even further, however, endeavouring to prove that reason and rational judgments
are merely habitual associations of distinct sensations or experiences (Distante,
2000).
Ameriks (2000) notes that the British tradition of idealism is often associated
with ‘negative’ metaphysical or epistemological doctrines – “the thesis that matter
or the external world is not independently real, or at least that it cannot be known,
or known with certainty, as real” (p. 8). The term is assumed to indicate some kind
of anti-realism, as if ‘ideal’ must always mean ‘not real’, whereas Plato’s ‘ideal’
was the exact opposite. The word ‘negative’ denotes that things taken as real do
not exist at all. A positivist interpretation of ‘idealism’, in contrast, does not
necessarily deny existence or project that existence into ‘another’ world, so much
as denote its optimal form. Such a notion of ‘idealism’ involves recognising that
entities may have a higher, or “more ‘ideal’ nature” (Ameriks, 2000, p. 8).
Fichte, Schelling and Hegel refused to accept cognition as simply the effect of
receiving data in perception. Ameriks (2000) notes that late eighteenth century
German philosophers welcomed the radical scientific strands of the late
Enlightenment, and tried to elaborate dynamic, chemical and organic models that
aimed, not at denying the existence of given natural forms, but at “affirming deep
(‘ideal’) structures that make these forms comprehensible as a whole and that force
us to go beyond the meagre passive vocabulary of mechanics” (p. 9). He
comments too on the irony of the fact that the ‘idealist’ German thinkers in this
period took themselves to mean something that is precisely the opposite of
anything like negative metaphysical idealism” or a “denial of public material
objects” (ibid.). Even this positive reading, however, has its problems in that it is
so elaborately systematic. Even if there is no intention to deny nature and
experience, there is frequently an insistence on offering an absolute philosophical
ground in the manner of pure science – “an urge that was also characteristic of
empiricist foundationalism and the positivist movement into the twentieth century”
(Ameriks, 2000, p. 10).
In an examination of ‘German idealism’, it is important to remember that there
was no such political or geographical entity as ‘Germany’ at the time. The territory
had been divided by the terms of the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648 into a series of
principalities – some relatively large, some as small as a village – as remnants of
36
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
the Holy Roman Empire.26 Religious divisions overshadowed any shared culture –
“the most that was shared was a language (of sorts) and a certain accidental
geographical proximity” (Pinkard, 2002, p. 2).
Even if the historical, geographical difficulties were ironed out, it is difficult to
specify exactly what is meant by ‘German idealism’ or even ‘idealism’ generally,
since even if there was consensus about who should be considered within the
category, there is considerable philosophical difference among those usually
included. German Idealism, Ameriks (2000) argues, arose in response to major
cultural upheavals such as the Enlightenment, the French Revolution, and the rise
of romanticism; it challenged the unquestioned authority of modern science; and
contributed significantly to the rise of nationalism and conservatism within
Germany, and also to the worldwide growth of liberalism, extending into the
spheres of science, philosophy, literature, art and social life.
Despite the broad focus and disparate interpretations, however, there are some
common features in its various manifestations. German Idealism privileged
thought over sensation, ideas over empirical observations, and an organic view of
life over mechanistic models. Nature was seen as spiritual, the field of ethics was
based on norms of universal validity, and history was interpreted as a rational
process. As a broad philosophical sweep, the period incorporates the work of
Leibniz, Lessing, Herder, Goethe, Schiller, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel,
Schleiermacher, Herbart and Schopenhauer; but perhaps the most significant
influence, particularly for Nietzsche, was that of Kant. It was Kant’s dual world
that made room for both the empirical world of science and the rational world of
morality.
Several factors had contributed to the particular character of the Enlightenment
in Germany and thus to Kant’s monumental status as a moral philosopher. A
notable early influence was that of Leibniz, who provided a distinctively religious
flavour, substituting the mechanical view of nature with a system of soul-like
‘monads’ – unchanging and unique entities that depend on God for their existence
and that stand behind the world of appearance (Shand, 1993). A pre-established
harmony exists between these monads, the relation being functional rather than
causal, and discoverable as laws of nature through observation and
experimentation. Although an empiricist in this respect, Leibniz was a rationalist
in that he believed reason could grasp the true nature of reality that lies behind
appearances. Like Kant, he imagined an a priori world not accessible to human
knowledge. Leibniz’s monads, as god-given entities, provided some ground for the
moral worth of the individual.
Lessing is credited with being the first representative of the movement to
liberate himself from conventional theology in favour of the arts, literature and
practical philosophy (Copleston, 1960); a move intensified and enhanced by
Herder, whose rebellion against the rationalism of the Enlightenment significantly
26 Pinkard (2002) refers to a ‘Holy Roman Empire’ which was not ‘holy’; nor was it Roman; nor was it
an Empire. Politically,
Germany was not a state, a confederation, or a treaty organisation, but a “wholly sui generis
political entity difficult to describe in any political terms familiar to us now” (p. 1).
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CHAPTER 3
influenced the development of German literature and romantic thought. In
Herder’s thought, too, is the idea of harnessing “science, art and all the other
institutions to humanise man, to develop the perfection of humanity” (ibid., p.
144).
In examining the legacy of idealism in German philosophy, Pinkard (2002)
describes the eventual despondency that developed after Kant and Hegel, noting a
shifting of faith to the authority of natural sciences (and later to the social sciences)
– still a faith in ‘reason’ itself, albeit in a different form. The despondency is
attributed to the effects of the Industrial Revolution and the revolutionary
disappointments of 1848-1849, after which, progress was to be signified by
materialism and industry rather than by development of spirit. Technology and
industry were to become the new paradigms for progressive thought and replace
idealism as the dominant metaphor, eventually to be overtaken by Darwin’s
evolutionary science and the resurgence of naturalism as the secular authority.
Alongside the imperial triumphalism of Germany after unification in 1871 and the
assertions of superiority by the increasingly wealthy bourgeoisie, Pinkard (2002)
notes a “spiritual exhaustion” (p. 357) – hardly the Kantian promise of mankind’s
‘release’ from its ‘self-incurred tutelage’. The paradox of modernity under Kantian
reason – and possibly the source of ‘exhaustion’ – relates to the idea that the moral
self is continually involved in rationalising its own actions while at the same time
not able to rely on anything outside of itself to underpin its own moral authority.
Thus, ‘we’ are always open to challenge, and the only challenges that can count are
contained within the ‘infinite’ activity of giving and asking for reasons. Beyond
this internal cycle, we extend our private self into the social domain where
questions of freedom are raised:
As a set of some of the deepest and more thorough reflections of what it
could mean for us to be free both individually and collectively under the
inescapable conditions of human plurality; and as an ongoing suspicion about
all those views that neglect these conditions, whether they be philosophical or
otherwise – this is and remains the true legacy of idealism (Pinkard, 2002, p.
367).
Before the publication of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason in 1781, Pinkard
(2002) argues, a revolution was clearly brewing – obviously not a political
revolution since, with the distributed nature of ‘German’ authority, there was no
discriminable source against which a rebellion might be focussed. There was
however, a large British settlement in Königsberg (Kant’s home town), providing
the impetus by which Scottish Enlightenment thought gradually mixed with
German thought to yield a revolution in thinking about the ‘self’.
Out of that mixture came the next lightning bolt, which in one blow
effectively demolished the entire grand metaphysical system supposedly
holding the whole ‘German’ scheme in place. Overthrowing the old
metaphysics, it inserted a new idea into the vocabulary in terms of which
modern Germans and Europeans spoke about their lives: self determination.
After Kant, nothing would be the same again (Pinkard, 2002, p. 15).
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THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
The eighteenth century had seen the development of different and incompatible
streams of metaphysical thought. Rousseau had promoted a concept of the ‘law
within’ – an internal morality for all persons as free and equal beings. On the other
hand, Newton’s scientific concept of the deterministic universe had no need for
God, freedom and immortality. Kant wanted to reconcile these conflicting claims
since they were not only in conflict with each other; they forced a binary choice
between either universal physical laws or universal moral laws.
The ‘price’ of that reconciliation was that laws of nature were given a
universal and necessary but empirical and ‘merely phenomenal’ significance,
while the sphere of freedom was grounded explicitly in a metaphysical and
not theoretically knowable domain, one revealed only by ‘pure practical
reason’. Knowledge had ‘made room for faith’, albeit a strictly moral faith
that did not rest on supernatural evidence or theological arguments”
(Ameriks, 2000, p. 5).
Kant acknowledged the work of Voltaire and Rousseau in according unique
value and dignity to the human form because of its capacity for rational thought
and moral action. However, he wanted to downplay any spiritual or religious
aspect of human nature as the basis for ethical responsibility. Although Kant
remained a practising Christian, his effort was “radically anthropocentric” (Taylor,
1992, p. 366) in locating the source of benevolence in the rational nature of man.
The cornerstone of Kant's transcendental philosophy is his Critique of Pure
Reason (1934) which reconciles science and religion in a world of two levels: that
of noumena – those objects conceived by reason although not perceived by the
senses; and that of phenomena – things as they appear to the senses and are
accessible to material study. Things appear to us, not as they are in themselves, but
as we experience them – ordered through the mind's concepts of time and space.
Through these ‘filters’, we shape the impressions coming from the unknowable,
transcendental reality. Kant maintained that God, freedom, and human immortality
are noumenal realities: understood through moral faith rather than through
scientific knowledge. According to Kant, science is valid, but it has to do only
with phenomena and so a rational proof of God’s existence (or any noumenal
reality) was not possible. Knowledge of ultimate reality comes through practical
reason, particularly through the a priori moral law in us.
In his ongoing quest for reconciliation, Kant understood the appreciation of
natural beauty as signalling a harmony between nature and freedom, although he
still reserved a transcendental ground for both freedom and nature (Ameriks, 2000,
p. 6). This was explored in his third critique (on the power of judgment), which,
combined with work of Goethe and Herder, stimulated the growth of aesthetics,
and provided a strong relationship between philosophy and artistic endeavour – a
relationship developed by philosophers such as Schopenhauer and Nietzsche who
could thence explore philosophy as emanating from aesthetic insight rather than
from rigorous science. The aesthetic turn carried through into German poetry too,
as Goethe and Schiller underlined Kantian ethics in promoting the moral and
religious worth of the individual.
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CHAPTER 3
Being the first to reconcile the conflicting empirical and rationalistic elements of
prevailing philosophy, Kant is generally considered to have provided the
conceptual framework for German Idealism, and so became a target for Nietzsche
and other ‘post-Kantian’ critics of Enlightenment thought. Before looking more
closely at a Nietzschean critique of the transcendental basis for Kantian morality
though, it is useful to look at a few other figures that followed Kant and influenced
the uptake of idealism in Germany. In that uptake, the ‘ideal’ world became a clear
focus for Nietzsche’s tirade against cultural and social nihilism and his critique of
the decadent life.
Fichte argued that neither realism nor idealism alone yields any theoretical
understanding of reality. Any transcendental domain was dismissed as
unknowable and as meaningless. No knowledge could be its own foundation and
proof. Every knowledge, he argued, presupposes something still higher as its
foundation – leading to an infinite nihilistic regression. Instead, he proposed a
closer link between the natural world and the revelation of pure practical reason – a
commitment based on faith – a ‘voluntary acquiescence’ to his own moral
conscience. Fichte’s ‘faith’ did not carry the certainty usually associated with
‘knowledge’, but involved a voluntary “decision of the will to recognise the
validity of knowledge.” (Fichte, 1987, p. 71). The ‘will’ for Fichte, involved
drives, urges and inclinations which prompt thought as well as action. These
drives impose a certain way of thinking upon us only if we don’t see the
compulsion. Awareness (as man’s ‘vocation’) could override such compulsion so
that we might, in keeping with our drives, shape our own way of thinking and
create our own lives. Although Fichte’s sentiments have been accused of sounding
“somewhat innocent” today (Preuss in Fichte, 1987, p. xii), his grounding of
knowledge inside faith and the resulting removal of moral certainty from the realm
of rational argument bears remarkable similarity to Nietzsche’s critique of Kantian
reason during the following century:
All my conviction is only faith … the source of my conviction is higher than
all disputation…Every supposed truth, which is to be produced by mere
thinking without having its roots in faith, will surely be false…” (Fichte,
1987, p. 72).
Often coupled with Fichte in seeking a religious basis for the origin and destiny
of humans, Schelling shifted philosophical focus a number of times through his
career (Hausheer, 1999). As a “philosopher of Romanticism” (Roberts, 1988, p.
144), his early focus on art and myth predated both Schopenhauer and Nietzsche in
their concern for the artist as creator. Bowie (2001) argues that Schelling's
continuing importance relates mainly to three aspects of his work. The first is his
philosophy of nature that goes beyond empirical science; the second is his anti-
Cartesian account of subjectivity; and the third is his later critique of Hegel – all
three aspects of significance to Nietzsche’s work.
Hegel is known as a systematic thinker, having constructed a comprehensive
system of thought about the world under the banner of ‘absolute idealism’. Like
Kant, his focus was on the fundamental unity underlying all experience – absolute
consciousness. Hegel held that reality must be rational, so that its ultimate
40
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
structure must be thinkable under a common concept of reason. Hegel's
encyclopaedic system is divided into the science of Logic, the philosophy of
Nature, and the philosophy of Spirit, a system which, he claimed, represented an
historical culmination of all previous philosophical thought (Kemerling, 2001).
Although usually characterised as a German idealist and a follower of Kant in
his reliance on rationalism rather than revelation, Hegel can be interpreted as
having radically rejected Kantianism. Hegel’s ‘absolute idealism’ and its
dialectical evolution is about ultimate reality, but his ‘absolute’ is within space and
time rather than in some noumenal world. Young (2003) suggests that Hegel’s
joining with Fichte, Schelling and others in calling himself an idealist is a tribute to
the mana of Kant, who cast such a long shadow that everyone, in the age of socalled
‘German idealism’, had at least to appear to be some sort of idealist.
“Rather than ‘absolute idealism’, ‘absolute realism’ would be a less misleading
label” (Young, 2003, p. 58).
Tanner (1994) highlights the way in which Nietzsche’s constructed ‘opposition’
between the Apollonian and the Dionysian is immensely more fruitful than
anything that could be produced by either of the opponents going it alone. Such
opposition, Tanner notes, is “characteristic of nineteenth century German
philosophy, its leading exponent being Hegel, a philosopher to whom Nietzsche
was in general strongly antagonistic throughout his life” (p. 9). Although Tanner
suggests that Nietzsche does not need any of the dialectical apparatus that Hegel
encumbers himself with, Nietzsche’s Übermensch can be construed, at least in part,
as a form of binary ‘overcoming’ of a worthy opponent. (This point is examined in
further detail in chapter nine where Nietzsche’s Übermensch is posited as a
metaphor for education.) In this respect, it could be argued that Nietzsche did not
progress beyond the Hegelian dialectic.
While Hegel had employed a deductive, dialectical method to reveal the
absolute under all reality, Schleiermacher worked in the phenomenal world, relying
on feeling rather than reason to achieve a unity. He sought to uncover the various
purposes of the perceived world, and use them to achieve a totality representing the
absolute divine purpose of the universe. The result was a religious consciousness
which took him into the field of theology. In contrast, Herbart worked with Kant’s
metaphysics, seeking to eliminate any ‘unknowable reality’, through the deduction
of a divine, creative intelligence. From judgments of the soul, he promoted the
ideal of an educated society as a working out of his fundamental ethical ideas. He
thus became not only a reformer of psychology, but of pedagogy as well (“German
Idealism”, 2001).
The last representative of German Idealism to be mentioned here is
Schopenhauer, although in his regard for the aesthetic response to life, he may also
be characterised as Romanticist. For him, the recognisable world is mere
phenomena (‘idea’); its underlying essence not Kant’s ‘thing in itself’, but a
universal will – a blind striving force with no ethical content at all. Life is
therefore aimless in terms of progress, resulting in a deep pessimism. Resigning
oneself to such realisation is, for Schopenhauer, a mechanism to quieten the will, in
line with a Buddhist deconstruction of individual worth and the belief that
salvation lies in self denial (Janaway, 1994). Schopenhauer was bitter in his hatred
41
CHAPTER 3
of Christianity, although like Nietzsche to follow, he had considerable regard for
the devoutness of Christ. Because of the strong links among Kant, Schopenhauer
and Nietzsche, closer examination of Schopenhauer’s key themes is also
warranted, but will be left until after Kant’s ideas are further explored later in this
chapter.
German Idealism and its broader counterpart in the Enlightenment left a strong
seedbed for later philosophers – not only for the disciples, but also for those who
would reject many of the premises of their predecessors. Nietzsche’s philosophical
inheritance was not limited to a variable mix of rationality and religion. The rise of
a revolutionary spirit in 19th Century Europe emerged in the arts in a period of
Romanticism as a form of revolt against the restraints and formalism of the earlier
classical period. Music had become publicly accessible after emerging from its
ecclesiastical roots (and its later exclusive royal patronage), to the point where the
church was no longer the primary patron of music. During the period, music
focussed on the “evocation of emotion as its primary function” (Wold & Cykler,
1985, p. 204). In the school of Goethe and Schiller, poetry became a vehicle for
the metaphysical or religious view of life. A different style of writing emerged
from the town of Jena27 in the works of Hölderlin, Novalis, Schlegel and
Schleiermacher. Through a ‘barrage’ of philosophic poems, revolutionary novels,
essays, dialogues, extensive critical notebooks, literary journals and writings that
purposely fit no standard genre, they developed what became known as Early
Romanticism: “a philosophy that made a point of emphasising, often in more
poetic than traditional philosophical style, the limits of philosophic systems as such
and of rationality in general” (Ameriks, 2000, p. 11). Romanticism emphasised
poetic expression over methodical constructions such as ‘laws of nature’ and an
innate faculty of reason.
The Romantic view of science was, to a considerable extent, an active revolt
against the rationalism of the epoch that preceded it. Romanticism advocated a
holistic view of life and the cosmos rather than allowing for dichotomies between
body and soul, or between subject and object (Distante, 2000). Kant’s unwitting
support for Romantic thought lay in the fact that his metaphysics left open the
possibility for important truths beyond theoretical knowledge (Ameriks, 2000, p.
12), contrasting sharply with the absolute claims of what was to develop under
Hegel and his followers. The flourishing of Romanticism coincided with
Nietzsche’s philosophical arrival, paving the way for his break with tradition not
only in terms of his thoroughgoing critique of idealism and Enlightenment reason,
but also in terms of his disregard for institutional academic traditions.
27 The University of Jena, under Goethe’s direction as minister of culture and higher education,
became a major centre of Romanticist philosophy and science. The university was linked with
philosophers like Fichte, Schelling, Hegel and Fries; and with famous German author Friedrich
Schiller. Among the students were Herbart, Wolff, Schumann, Frege and Novalis, while
Schopenhauer and Marx were both to receive doctorates there. The University of Jena nurtured the
development of the revolutionary student society (Burschenschaft) that demanded freedom of
speech, open participation in political life, and unity for the German nation
(http://www.burschenschaft.de/portrait/portrait_englisch.htm).
42
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
KANTIAN METAPHYSICS
Kant attributed a debt of gratitude to David Hume28 for having “commenced the
assault on the claims of pure reason” (Kant, 1996, p. 68). Hume’s distinction
between fact and value rendered the move from ‘is’ to ‘ought’ as inconceivable and
erroneous. Thus it was not possible to reason from sets of facts to ‘right’ and
‘wrong’, or from ‘is’ to ‘ought’, unless of course one is referring to the “prudential
‘ought’” (Hanfling, 1972, p. 19) – an imperative based on an empirical wisdom of
self-interest, driven by “desires and inclinations” (Kant, 1988, p. 86).
Kant’s ethical ideas are a logical outcome of his belief in the fundamental
freedom of the individual – “a morally autonomous unit whose obligations were
self-imposed and owed nothing to the external authority of a religious creed or to
the deterministic pressure of a material environment” (Hampson 1968, p. 198).
This freedom did not imply the lawlessness of anarchy, but rather, the freedom of
self-government, and the freedom to obey consciously the laws of the universe as
revealed by reason. Society’s laws were to reflect the reasoned will of all members
of society, presumably increasing the likelihood of conformity to such laws. Kant,
like Rousseau, believed all men were to be treated as equal, offering philosophical
grounds for social and political equality, and providing the basis for the unique
moral value of the individual (Hanfling, 1972, p. 10). For Kant, morality consists
in the reference of all action to a reasoned legislation. He holds that as all rational
beings come under the law, they deserve respect as ends in themselves:
Each of them must treat itself and all others never merely as means, but in
every case at the same time as ends in themselves. Hence results a systematic
union of rational beings by common objective laws, i.e., a kingdom which
may be called a kingdom of ends, since what these laws have in view is just
the relation of these beings to one another as ends and means. It is certainly
only an ideal” (Kant, 1988, p. 62).
Kant’s moral reasoning had relied upon a structure of concepts and categories
by means of which an active reason imposes order on the world29. Kantian
principles of practical reason were not natural objects capable of discovery, so
much as the creation of individual reason and desire. Kant’s conception of law was
therefore inseparable from his belief in the activity, dignity and worth of rational
individuals who created it (R. Peters, 1966).
Underpinning Kant’s bid to free human nature from external determination is
his notion of the will. The concept is used in various ways by philosophers, but for
Kant it was always something belonging to rational beings: “a faculty either to
28 Kant had acknowledged some four years earlier in his Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics that
Hume’s ideas had interrupted his ‘dogmatic slumber’ to give his investigations in the field of
speculative philosophy quite a new direction.
29 In this respect, Nietzsche can be considered almost Kantian, although Nietzsche is not limited to
reason in imposing order on the world.
the total character of the world, however, is in all eternity chaos – [in its] lack of order,
arrangement, form, beauty, wisdom, and what ever other names there are for our aesthetic
anthropomorphisms (GS §109).
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CHAPTER 3
produce objects corresponding to ideas, or to determine ourselves to the effecting
of such objects (whether the power is sufficient or not)” (Kant, 1996, p. 25). The
‘will’ is seen as a “rational faculty” (Hanfling, 1972, pp. 26-27) and identified with
“practical reason” (Paton, 1963, p. 82).
Given the necessary and intentional nature of reason in this ethical system, it
was logical to search for some kind of universal formula. Of course, it was always
possible to formulate an end based on a presupposed condition – if you want A,
then do B – a possibility that Kant depicted as a ‘hypothetical imperative’. His
search in the moral domain however was for something less conditional, resulting
in his (debatably) universal notion of the ‘categorical imperative’ – the
fundamental moral principle or law to guide all moral action, expressed typically as
the prescription: “Act according to a maxim which can at the same time make itself
a universal law.” (Kant, 1988, p. 66). Thus to be considered moral, an action had
to be guided by thinking which could, under the same conditions, apply universally
to all rational beings; with self-interest subject to an overarching principle that
could be prescribed as a universal law. For Kant, this universal law was the
‘categorical imperative’.
Kant’s prescription for every person to be treated as an end in itself and not as a
means to advance the interests of others implies that individuals must be granted
autonomy both to formulate what is in their best interests and to pursue their
interests and chosen activities free from unwarranted constraint. This does not
mean free from all constraint, however, since his prescription for a universal moral
ground required that self-interest be subject to a consideration for others as ends in
themselves, so that private reason was always (to an undetermined extent)
tempered by social considerations.
For Kant, the supreme good relies on a will which is self ruled or autonomous –
doing the right thing because it is the right thing, determined by reason and not by
inclination or instinct, and free from any kind of inducement or external purpose,
such as happiness, achievement, passion, external rules or religion. The categorical
imperative introduced the notion of duty as a necessary component of morality.
Kant argued that reason is able to fulfil a purpose determined by reason alone,
overcoming inclination and desire – not as a means to a further end, but as a good
in itself (Hanfling, 1972, pp. 34-35). In this, Kant parted company with Hume,
who rejected the idea of reason as an original principle with a prerogative above
others. Hume considered thought to be subordinate to sense and experience: “All
this creative power of the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of
compounding, transposing, augmenting, or diminishing the materials afforded us
by the sense and experience” (Hume, 1927, p. 16).
Hume’s elevation of experience over reason was rejected by Kant as
heteronomy of the will, and not part of a system of morality. The problem of
heteronomy for Kant was that all popular systems of morality of his day located the
essence of morality in factors which lay outside morality, in empirical factors
(Hanfling, 1972), whereas Kant believed that genuine foundations must be a priori
– thus duty for its own sake:
In order that an action should be morally good, it is not enough that it
conform to the moral law, but it must also be done for the sake of the law,
44
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
otherwise that conformity is only very contingent and uncertain; since a
principle which is not moral, although it may now and then produce actions
confirmable to the law, will also often produce actions which contradict it
(Kant, 1988, p. 12).
Heteronomy is easy to distinguish when some form of compulsion is operating
such as political interference or physical necessity. Although Kant was, to some
extent, trying to validate existing and commonly accepted principles, he was not
prepared to accept a morality subject to mere tastes or preference. In Kant’s
system of rational morality, actions arising from mere taste or whim are rejected as
“inevitably only heteronomy” (Kant, 1988, p. 74), since these actions are not
governed by the intentional element of reason; nor are they applicable universally.
Building on the inseparable notions of freedom and autonomy, Kant (1960)
formulated what might be taken as his educational philosophy. In a small volume
entitled simply Education, he expounds on a number of themes still recognisable in
educational dialogue today. For example, he talks of a blend between ‘nurture’,
‘discipline’, ‘teaching’ and ‘culture’ (p. 1). His hope for the future lies in the
continuous ‘improvement’ of ‘human nature’ through education. He speaks out
against ‘mechanical’ teaching, advocating instead schools “guided by experiments”
(p. 22) – ‘experiments’ which today we might call ‘research’. He differentiates
between ‘practical’ (moral) training and ‘physical’ sciences. He advocates Socratic
method, suggesting teachers “try to draw out [students’] own ideas, founded on
reason” (p. 81), rather than introduce such ideas into their minds. He argues that a
child must from earliest childhood be allowed “perfect liberty in every respect
(except on those occasions when he might hurt himself)” (p. 28). In short, Kant’s
educative direction is a prescription for internalising the moral law.
Everything in education depends upon establishing correct principles, and
leading children to understand and accept them. They must learn to
substitute abhorrence for what is revolting and absurd, for hatred; the fear of
their own conscience, for the fear of man and divine punishment; self-respect
and inward dignity, for the opinions of men; the inner value of actions, for
words and mere impulses; understanding, for feeling; and joyousness and
piety with good humour, for a morose, timid and gloomy devotion (Kant,
1960, p. 109).
In explaining his ‘system’ of morality, Kant (1988) argues that reason is the
‘supreme cause’ and therefore not justifiable or explainable on prior grounds.
Thus, it cannot find a supreme motive in the empirical world. Nor, on the other
hand, may it operate solely in its own empty space of transcendental concepts –
and this is where Kant acknowledges the limits of reason. Human reason, he says,
cannot enable us to conceive the absolute necessity of an unconditional practical
law, and yet we “comprehend its incomprehensibility, and this is all that can be
fairly demanded of a philosophy which strives to carry its principles up to the very
limit of human reason” (Kant, 1988, p. 97).
In Kant’s admission about the limits of human reason lies a fundamental
conceptual problem with the moral domain. Hanfling (1972) points out that if
explanations or motivations were forthcoming (for what is declared in his moral
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CHAPTER 3
law to be incomprehensible), then autonomy has no place. Autonomous action, as
a cornerstone of Kant’s morality, precludes our searching in the sensible world for
a motive for doing what is morally right. Additionally, we may not allow our
reason to stray into the transcendental world which lies beyond its capacities.
Although Hanfling is clearly respectful of the reasoned edifice that Kant
constructed, he uses this stalemate in Kant’s position to warn that reason must not
“commit the absurdity of trying to know the unknowable” (1972, p. 60).
Connolly (2000) suggests that Kant’s attempt to anchor the supersensible in a
familiar concept of reason, avoids an untenable situation in which everyone has his
own private, inner revelation, and in which no communication about truth is
possible. However, the operation of Kant’s morality is still very much a private
business, necessarily autonomous and reliant upon individual interpretation of what
a sense of duty might command. Admittedly, Kant acknowledges the difference
between the ‘public’ and ‘private’ use of one’s reason, defining the former as “the
use which a person makes of it as a scholar before the reading public” (1990, p.
85), and the latter as “that which one may make of it in a particular civil post or
office which is entrusted to him” (ibid.). However, his differentiation here applies
more to communicative action rather than the kind of logic internal to his notion of
moral duty. Following one’s duty requires an inner consultation and thus a private
rationality. Foucault notes the political implications of this distinction:
The question, in any event, is that of knowing how the use of reason can take
the public form that it requires, how the audacity to know can be exercised in
broad daylight, while individuals are obeying as scrupulously as possible
(Foucault, 1984a, p. 37).
Kant’s solution was a “contract of rational despotism with free reason”
(Foucault, ibid.) – a proposal to Frederick II that the best guarantee of obedience
would be the public and free use of autonomous reason, provided always that the
will of authority was in conformity with universal reason. Although an excellent
political move in terms of democratising authority, and strongly reminiscent of
Rousseau’s ‘General Will’, Kant’s proposal does not solve the philosophical
conflict between a public display of reason and a private inner sense of duty.
We are left then with the essence of Kantian morality as necessarily
incomprehensible, in that it is a self-contained ‘system’ that can’t be explained by
empirical means, with its ‘truth’ dependent on an individual and private rationality,
and its ultimate driver in an unknowable realm. And such inaccessible
incomprehensibility begets both the notion of ‘duty’ and the ‘categorical
imperative’ that governs all moral thought and action!
NIETZSCHE’S CRITIQUE OF KANT
In spite of the deductive logic underpinning Kant’s categorical imperative and his
notion of duty, his position still requires a commitment to the universal good – a
secularisation of the ultimate and unknowable realm outside of human perception
and sensation. From this universal realm, Kant derived his ethical concern for
autonomy and his respect for persons as ‘ends in themselves’. Reliance on an
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THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
unknowable realm as the source of ethical commitment requires a leap of faith
beyond empirical justification, in much the same manner as a religious faith in God
must transcend the perceived world (Connolly, 2000). The resulting deification of
universal reason underpins much of Nietzsche’s criticism of Kant, in particular
Kant’s quest to demonstrate the existence of a higher morality. Nietzsche’s famous
declaration that God is dead (GS §108) lays siege to Kantian reason as the suffused
image of God – a ‘tremendous, gruesome shadow’ that may be projected for
thousands of years, ‘a spectre to overcome’ as man is ‘reintegrated into nature’:
When will all these shadows of God cease to darken our minds? When will
we complete our de-deification of nature? When may we begin to
‘naturalise’ humanity in terms of a pure, newly discovered, newly redeemed
nature? (GS §109).
From the perspective that God is dead, there is no basis for shadows to persist.
Nietzsche argues that when one gives up Christian belief, one thereby deprives
oneself of the right to Christian morality, since it is true only if God is true. Any
remnants of intuition about good and evil are then merely a legacy of Christian
morality, whether conscious or not.
Tanner’s introduction to Nietzsche’s Twilight of the Idols highlights the link
between the Christian God and Kant’s foundation of morality. Tanner emphasises
the holistic nature of Christian belief and sympathises with Nietzsche over the
illegitimacy of selective appropriation of its component parts:
we still derive our conception of human nature from seeing ourselves as
creatures, obliged to obey the dictates of our Creator. ... but at the same time
we realise that something is amiss, so we tinker around in an ad hoc sort of
way, holding on to such concepts as ‘rights’ and ‘equality’, jettisoning or
tacitly ignoring others that we find inconvenient. The result, in Nietzsche’s
view, is a moral and spiritual vulgarity so depressing that he has to stage a
one-man, non-stop demonstration of exaltation (Tanner, 1990, p. 13).
In a series of short propositions, Nietzsche (TI) dismantles the Kantian
separation of the ‘real’ from the ‘apparent’ world. He observes that any reality
other than the empirical world is absolutely undemonstrable, and thus a “moraloptical
illusion” (TI, ‘Reason’ in Philosophy §6). Talk of another ‘better’ or
‘higher’ realm is for Nietzsche merely a revenge on life, an expression of
décadence and a symptom of declining life. Belief in a higher realm is a feature
common to both Christianity and to Kantian philosophy, leading to Nietzsche’s
denigration of Kant as a cunning Christian. In contrast, Nietzsche had a life-long
admiration for the figure of the artist who could affirm (rather than deny) reality
and enhance it through a particular representation. The artist’s focus on
‘appearance’ was not an inadequate signifier of some higher unattainable realm,
but an engagement with reality as it presents:
‘Appearance’ here signifies reality once more, only selected, strengthened,
corrected ... The tragic artist is not a pessimist – it is precisely he who affirms
all that is questionable and terrible in existence, he is Dionysian (TI, ‘Reason’
in Philosophy §6).
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CHAPTER 3
Not content with an attack on the basis of Kant’s logic, Nietzsche goes on to
attack the genealogy of Kantian thought. In six paragraphs, he traces the history of
Western thought from Plato through to a nihilistic end of modernity, exposing
Kant’s ‘Real World’ as a myth (TI, How the ‘Real World’ at last became a myth).
The ‘real world’ signified here is, of course, Kant’s noumena, the necessarily
elusive nature of which conceals the essence of rational morality.
The categorical imperative has little value for Nietzsche, not only because of its
inadequate referent, but also because he sees the claim that ‘everyone must judge
as I do’ as merely an egotistical imposition of one’s own will:
For it is selfish to experience one’s own judgment as a universal law; and this
selfishness is blind, petty, and frugal because it betrays that you have not yet
discovered yourself nor created for yourself an ideal of your own, your very
own – for that could never be somebody else’s and much less that of all, all!
(GS §335).
His objection to a universal application here stems, paradoxically, from a
Kantian idea that our opinions about ‘good’ and ‘noble’ and ‘great’ can never be
proved true by our actions, simply because of the degree of separation between
rational thought and the sensory world. In the binary differentiation between
idealism and materialism, the essence of every action is unknowable. While
Nietzsche accepts that our opinions and tables of values act as powerful levers in
governing our actions, he claims that, “in any particular case the law of their
mechanism is indemonstrable” (GS §335). This is a clear call for ethical direction
and self-creation to emanate from the physically discoverable – ‘the lawful and
necessary in the world’, and the quality of honesty which provides the strength of
character to face reality without the hidden dimension. The call to physics as
justification for the world was a characteristic of Nietzsche’s ‘positivist’ period30
during which Nietzsche sought cultural renewal through science (Owen, 1995).
Nietzsche’s atheism and his account of ‘God’s murder’ (GS §125) was a rejection
of a higher judgmental authority that served to “redirect people’s attention to their
inherent freedom, the presently-existing world, and away from all escapist, painrelieving,
heavenly otherworlds” (Wicks, 2004).
The net effect of such a critique is that if the ‘real world’ (i.e., the higher realm,
the noumena or the ‘thing-in-itself’) is unattainable, then it cannot be known, and
so therefore we have no duty towards it. The ‘real world’ thus becomes useless as
an idea. But as we abolish the ‘real’ world, we also abolish its binary derivative –
the ‘apparent’ world, since there is nothing hidden to be revealed. With the ‘thingin-
itself’ undemonstrable, Kant’s ‘categorical imperative’ and sense of moral duty
is then – at best – misguided and lacking a philosopher’s critical reflection:
The “categorical imperative” crept stealthily into his heart and led him astray
– back to “God”, “soul”, “freedom,” and “immortality,” like a fox who loses
his way and goes astray back into his cage. Yet it had been his strength and
cleverness that had broken open the cage! (GS §335).
30 The period from his writing of Human, All Too Human in 1878 to the first four books of The Gay
Science in 1882 (Wicks, 2004)
48
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
It would be wrong to suggest, though, that Kant’s educational philosophy had
nothing to offer Nietzsche. A number of Kantian themes resonate in Nietzsche’s
writing: for example, the notion of man as becoming rather than being:
Man can only become man through education (Kant, 1960, p. 6);
the importance of the teacher as model and mentor:
Were some being of higher nature than man to undertake our education, we
should then be able to see what man might become (ibid., p. 6);
an element of naturalism as part of destiny:
… many germs lying undeveloped in man. It is for us to make these germs
grow, by developing his natural gifts in their due proportion, and to see that
he fulfils his destiny” (ibid., p. 9);
and the significance of ‘character’ in relation to discipline:
The ‘first endeavour in moral education is the formation of character
…[requiring] strict adherence to rules (ibid., p. 84-85).
Kant’s notion of ‘character’ required obedience31, truthfulness and sociableness
– all qualities which Nietzsche admired in Schopenhauer as an educator. However,
Nietzsche would distance himself from Kant’s formulation of the foundation of
moral character as a binary sense of duty: on the one hand, “duties to self” –
including temperance and dignity; and, on the other hand, “duties to others” –
including reverence and respect for the rights of others (Kant, 1960, pp. 101-102).
Man’s duty to improve himself, says Kant, means he must ‘bring the moral law to
bear upon himself’, since he is not by nature a moral being. He only ‘becomes a
moral being’ when his reason has “developed ideas of duty and law” (ibid., p. 108).
His ‘natural inclination’ is to vice, achieving moral goodness only by means of
‘virtue’ – that is to say, by ‘self-restraint’. In stark contrast, Nietzsche’s morality
requires an integrity that comes not from compliance with an externally imposed
system of values, nor from being constrained within a system of rationality, but
from interrogating the whole basis of morality – a “revaluation of all values” (AC
§13)32. Although his later works (GM; BGE; AC; TI) are clearly focussed on the
nature of morality, Nietzsche added a preface entitled Attempt at a Self Criticism to
his very first book some fourteen years after its original writing, to revise what the
book was ‘really’ about. Rather than his earlier claim that, “Art represents the
highest task and the truly metaphysical activity of this life” (BT: Preface to
Richard Wagner), he now suggested that morality had been his focus all along:
31 For Kant, obedience could be either (a) absolute and compulsory; or (b) voluntary, arising out of
trust and confidence. Although morality and a sense of duty requires the latter, Kant acknowledged
that the former may be necessary to:
prepare the child for the fulfilment of laws that he will have to obey later, as a citizen, even
though he may not like them (1960, p. 90).
32 In the translator’s note, Hollingdale notes that the Antichrist was intended as the first part of a fourbook
project entitled The Revaluation of all Values.
49
CHAPTER 3
It was against morality that my instinct turned with this questionable book,
long ago; it was an instinct that aligned itself with life and that discovered for
itself a fundamentally opposite doctrine and valuation of life – purely artistic
and anti-Christian. … I called it Dionysian (BT: Attempt at a Self-Criticism).
Kant’s construction of morality then can be seen in Nietzschean terms as
disguised Platonism or as selective Christianity, operating out of a sense of duty
that was by Kant’s own admission ‘incomprehensible’, and the application of a
categorical imperative based on a notion of universal reason that governs all
rational beings – god and man alike. To make matters worse, Nietzsche suggests,
this construction of a categorical imperative is merely an egocentric projection of
Kant’s own philosophical belief (GS §335). Thus Kant’s construction of morality
is questionable at least, although perhaps not sufficient to warrant Nietzsche’s
assessment of him as “the most deformed intellectual cripple there has ever been”
(TI, What the Germans Lack §7).
Although Nietzsche does not offer an explicit normative theory of ethics in the
way Kant does, he does see values as an important influence on a person’s actions,
or he would not be concerned to undertake a revaluation of values. However, as
Leiter points out, “the causal efficacy of values is always circumscribed by the
natural facts that make a person who he or she is” (1997, p. 262). It is this point
that marks the separation between Kant and Nietzsche. No longer is the rational
capacity or the transcendental world the source of all moral value. Nietzsche calls
instead for a new ethical direction:
Let us therefore limit ourselves to the purification of our opinions and
valuations and to the creation of our own new tables of what is good, and let
us stop brooding about the “moral value of our actions”! …We, however,
want to become those we are – human beings who are new, unique,
incomparable, who give themselves laws, who create themselves (GS §335).
Schopenhauer’s educational impact on Nietzsche has already been explicated
earlier, so will not be reproduced here. However, it is important to note that the
early influences upon Schopenhauer’s philosophy were Kantian. These are clear in
his writing, with frequent references to Kant, especially the preservation of the
Kantian notion of ‘thing-in-itself’ (as ‘Will’). Schopenhauer is an idealist, in that,
for him, material objects would not exist without a subject, without a mind to think
them (Janaway, 1994).
Schopenhauer’s doctoral dissertation, On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of
Sufficient Reason (1974) theorises the principles governing ordinary experience
and reasoning. He follows Kant in positing objects in the world as knowable only
in relation to space and time. A second class of objects is his idea of concepts –
our ways of representing experiences of things in the material world. His third
class of objects is made up of space and time – as theoretical constructs; while his
fourth class is our experience of the self. To each of these classes of object, he
assigns a different way of knowing:
The subjective correlative to the first class of representations is the
understanding, that to the second the faculty of reason, and that to the third
50
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
pure sensibility, so is the subjective correlative to this fourth class found to be
the inner sense, or generally self-consciousness (Schopenhauer, 1974, p.
212).
Of particular interest in relation to Kant is his fourth class and the way in which
the subject is revealed. Here he parts company with Kant in arguing that the
subject is available to human experience, revealed as the will. Schopenhauer talks
of an ‘inner knowledge’, in which:
All knowledge presupposes a known and a knower. Thus within us the
known as such is not the knower but the willer, the subject of willing, the
will…. To this extent the subject of willing would therefore be for us an
object. When we are introspective, we always find ourselves as the willer”
(Schopenhauer, 1974, p. 211).
Schopenhauer’s idea of the will as a blind, striving force is anything but a
rational basis for morality, and provides a vehicle for understanding something of
Nietzsche’s appeal to Dionysian revelry and the orgiastic frenzy which he longs
for. Comparing Kant’s and Schopenhauer’s formulations of the will helps to
understand some of the inherent tension in Nietzsche’s philosophy. Much of
Nietzsche’s writing promoted a revelry in the horror of existence and the strength
of character that entailed; while at the same time he attempted to reconcile its
conflicting aspects. While no exact match is proposed here, Schopenhaurean will
might be seen as emerging through Dionysian expression, while Kantian reason
might be represented in terms of the Apollonian – a dualism that occupied
Nietzsche intensely and provided the ground for his notion of Übermensch as some
sort of reconciliation in the face of challenge and adversity.
In expressing opinions about Hegel, Schopenhauer provided a model of
linguistic freedom for Nietzsche. Not only was his aphoristic style continued into
Nietzsche’s era, the level of invective was also infectious. Schopenhauer had a
lifelong hatred for Hegel – some might say ‘envy of his public acclaim’ – which is
evident in Nietzsche as well. Schopenhauer (1974) lambasts Hegel as “a
charlatan” (p. 168), “a dull ignorant philosophaster, [and] scribbler of nonsense”
(p. 61), and an “ignoramus” (p. 120); describing Hegel’s philosophy as “pseudophilosophy”
(p. 16), “empty, hollow, and even nauseous verbiage” (p. 60), and
“Hegelian twaddle” (p. 182). This attitude is mirrored in some choice phrases in
Nietzsche’s writing, where he recalls his earlier Birth of Tragedy as “offensively
Hegelian” (EH, The Birth of Tragedy §1); where he insults Hegel as an
“unconscious counterfeiter” of knowledge (EH, The Case of Wagner §3); where he
portrays Hegel’s theory as the “abstrusest of sciences and altogether a piece of the
highest moral boredom” (DB III §193); and where he refers to Hegel’s systematic
philosophy: “I mistrust all systematisers and avoid them. The will to a system is a
lack of integrity” (TI, Maxims and Arrows §26).
This is not to suggest that Nietzsche’s opinion of Hegel was mere imitation, but
Schopenhauer’s style of language was a definite break with the careful logic of his
idealist predecessors, and would have had some effect on the young Nietzsche.
51
CHAPTER 3
Schopenhauer had appealed to Nietzsche33 during his formative years through his
elevation of the status of embodied presence, his notion of the will as a
metaphysical force, and his uptake of Eastern mysticism as an alternative to reason.
In rejecting universal and transcendental ideals, Nietzsche posited will to power
(rather than rational essence) as the driver for humanity; he promoted embodied,
worldly presence (the real) rather than an idea(l) of heavenly salvation or deified
truth; and espoused individual character – his own, possibly – over equality or
social conformity.
Nietzsche’s view of morality is intertwined with his view of ressentiment
mentality, a theme explored in depth in his On the Genealogy of Morals (GM).
Nietzsche ridiculed the Christian technology of subservience and self-denial,
although he held a deep respect for Christ himself, lauding him as a ‘free spirit’
who sees his innermost being as ‘life’, ‘truth’ and ‘light’ while at the same time
standing outside of all religion (AC §32). Nietzsche refused any morality that
relied on an afterlife or a ‘better world’ for salvation (including Hegel’s impending
‘absolute’), believing instead that the life to be celebrated is of this world:
I have discovered the arrogant theologian-instinct wherever anyone today
feels himself to be an ‘idealist’ – wherever anyone assumes, by virtue of a
higher origin, a right to cast strange and superior looks at actuality (AC §8).
What Nietzsche held against Kant (and idealism generally) is the reliance upon a
‘higher origin’ that militates against the striving for excellence in this life, a
striving in which Nietzsche would advocate “concern with the self, suffering, a
certain stoic indifference, a sense of hierarchy and difference” (Leiter, 1997, p.
268).
As a critique of idealist thought, Nietzsche’s Übermensch functions as a
personification of worldly freedom, – a (debatably) human form that projects
Nietzsche’s valuation of the worldly over the transcendent, his espousal of
individual overcoming over social obligation, and his promotion of health and
power over sickness and duty. The role of culture and education was to prepare the
way for Übermenschlich development, with the power of humanity manifest in its
highest specimens. Thus, Nietzsche’s Übermensch can be seen as an antidote to
German idealism. Of course, it might be argued that Übermensch was just another
idealist notion in that it does not describe an actual being. However, the concept
entails the primacy of worldly reality, grounded in the social rather than the ideal
world, and not imbued with and reliant upon rational morality. Thus, it points
towards something beyond Kant as an ethical basis.
33 Nietzsche later distanced himself from Schopenhauer’s nihilistic devaluation of life. According to
Nietzsche, Schopenhauer had interpreted art, heroism, genius, beauty, sympathy, knowledge, the
will to truth, and tragedy, as phenomena consequent upon the ‘denial’ of the will – a move Nietzsche
labelled as:
the greatest piece of psychological false-coinage in history, Christianity alone excepted (TI,
Expeditions of an Untimely Man §21).
52
THE ENLIGHTENMENT AND GERMAN IDEALISM
The next chapter now expands on the interpretation of Nietzsche’s ideas,
beginning with an exploration of recent debate within educational philosophy
about the possible relationship between Nietzsche and education.
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CHAPTER 4
EDUCATION’S NIETZSCHE
THE RECEPTION OF NIETZSCHE
There have been various receptions of Nietzsche in Western thought. In contrast to
the fifty-year old reading by Georg Lukács emerging from a rising European
socialism, Johnson (1996) highlights a number of ‘redemptive’ interpretations of
Nietzsche’s thought, including: the early feminist embrace of Nietzsche’s critique
of a rationality as a revolt against bourgeois domesticity; contemporary feminist
echoes of Nietzsche’s struggle against a classical liberal conception of the subject;
and Warren’s (1988) depiction of ‘gentle’ postmodern Nietzsche as opposed to the
‘bloody’ Nietzsche engaged in exploitation and subjection of otherness. Also
included as a redemptive strategy in Johnson’s overview are Nehamas’s (1985)
aesthetic reading of life as literature in which free spirits encounter the world as a
text in relation to which they are paradoxically positioned as both reader/interpreter
and author/creator; Foucault’s appeal to the aesthetic in repudiating the
normalising impositions of received morality; and Rorty’s attempt to reclaim
Nietzsche for the purposes of social cooperation in a utopia of pluralistic
modernity. Most of these redemptive approaches, she argues, have strongly
pluralistic motivations and tend to support one form or another of postmodern
commitment to the expression of difference.
With no authentic Nietzsche and no dogmatic certainty as to his original intent,
such interpretations are not seeking disclosure of an essential truth in Nietzsche’s
texts, but are concerned to harness aspects of Nietzsche’s philosophy to clarify and
elucidate contemporary concerns. Johnson suggests that these strategic
(redemptive) readings seek to produce a Nietzsche we can live with – a recognition
perhaps that “we cannot live with a Nietzsche untamed” (p. 32). The question
remains then of just how much of Nietzsche’s world can be dissolved in the
solution of our own contemporary issues, and whether Nietzsche’s ideas can be
reasonably interpreted for such purposes.
On the politics of reading Nietzsche, Coole (1998) notes an ‘insatiable appetite’
for interpretations of Nietzsche among political theorists, philosophers and cultural
critics. Her paper surveys a few commentaries within political debate, but in the
end, amounts to a rejection of postmodern initiatives within Nietzschean
scholarship, highlighting the nihilistic end of Derridean deconstruction and the
futility of trying to construct a metaphysics in a post-Kantian reality. The outcome,
for Coole, is the claim, contested here, that Nietzsche is politically impotent –
particularly if we are to ignore his hierarchical and aristocratic thinking.
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EDUCATION’S NIETZSCHE
The preface to a recent collection of essays – an international offering edited by
Peters, Marshall and Smeyers (2001)34 – attributes the popularisation of
Nietzsche’s ideas to readings by Bataille, Blanchot, Blondel, Klossowski, Kofman,
Foucault, Deleuze and Derrida in their English translations, and to the huge
influence of Heidegger’s series of lectures and essays. Subsequent English
interpretations have also been influential – among those noted are Kaufmann,
Rorty, Magnus and Higgins, Leiter, Warren and Schacht. Focus is kept here on the
ways in which Nietzsche might be considered educational, although broader
reference is made to a number of these thinkers in support of educational points
being made.
The introduction to the same book notes the dearth of scholarship engaging with
Nietzsche’s educational philosophy and writings, so the debate conducted in
philosophy of education journals is significant in an exploration of this nature. The
previous chapter focussed mainly on what might be called Nietzsche’s explicit
educational philosophy. However, commentary on Nietzsche’s relation to
education needs to draw more widely than that, paying attention not only to his
other writing that might illuminate educational debate, but also to Nietzsche as a
representative of his own style of educator. This last aspect also allows room for
discussion of Nietzsche’s wandering prophet Zarathustra, arguably a spokesperson
for Nietzsche’s later thoughts about education and self-development.
The current chapter acknowledges the debate conducted spasmodically over the
last decades in three philosophy of education journals – the North American
Educational Theory, the British Journal of Philosophy of Education, and some
recent articles in the Australasian Journal Educational Philosophy and Theory.
Examination of interpretations made by various authors in the field points to a
number of themes that impact on educational thought. Among these are
Nietzsche’s will to power in relation to individual freedom and the liberal self, his
elitism in relation to an egalitarian concern for democracy, self-overcoming as a
metaphor for education, and emulation of style as a mode of education. While this
list is not exhaustive, it is interesting to note the overlap with aspects seen as
emanating directly from Nietzsche’s writing – in particular the relationship
between the individual and the social, and the importance of the idea of selfovercoming.
These and other aspects are explored in detail throughout later
chapters in discussions on liberalism, on democracy and on poststructural accounts
of education. Before embarking on those discussions though, it is important to
survey the territory covered by some of the commentators to establish what has
already been said. To this end, our attention now focuses on some published
articles within the field of philosophy of education.
THE JOURNAL DEBATE
Between 1980 and 1991, five papers about Nietzsche and education appeared in the
Journal of Philosophy of Education, each subsequent writer referring to, arguing
34 The author of this thesis contributed a chapter, along with some unpublished work cited in the
book’s introduction as the basis for the review of the Nietzschean literature in philosophy of
education. That ‘unpublished work’ has formed the basis of the current thesis chapter.
55
CHAPTER 4
with, or incorporating the work of earlier contributors. One examination of the
educational significance of Nietzsche’s thought appeared in the American journal
Educational Theory in 1973. In terms of educational philosophy, it credits
Nietzsche with having “the most systematic and the most consistent working out of
the idea of radical free education in the history of educational thought” (Rosenow,
1973, p. 370). The same journal features another paper by James Hillesheim, who
interpreted Nietzsche’s educational theory of self-overcoming as the path towards
the creation of genius and genuine culture.
It was not for another seven years that the issue of Nietzsche and education was
raised again, this time in the British Journal of Philosophy of Education. Between
1980 and 1985, four papers about Nietzsche and education appeared, with each
writer incorporating the work of earlier contributors, (although there was no
mention of the two 1973 papers). One of the contributors, David Cooper, explored
the subject in depth in his book Authenticity and Learning (1983a), which was
referred to in subsequent debate.
In 1986, Nietzsche’s educational philosophy again came under scrutiny in
Educational Theory. Hillesheim and Rosenow were responsible for three out of a
total of five more papers that appeared there over the next four years. None of the
five acknowledged the work done in earlier papers in the British journal.
Nietzsche appeared again in the British journal in 1991 with Aviram’s summary
and analysis of the earlier articles providing a broad philosophical reconciliation of
many apparently contradictory perspectives. Sassone’s (1996) article made a
useful contribution to the debate about whether Nietzsche might be used to support
any kind of democracy. Offering a postmodern reading of Nietzsche’s many
‘voices’, she perhaps comes closest to a poststructural reading of Nietzsche that
emerges later in this volume. Some further articles on Nietzsche to appear in these
journals since Sassone’s effort (Johnson, 1998; Bingham, 1998; 2001; Gregory,
2001; Tubbs, 2003) have added little new to the debate but are reviewed briefly
later in this chapter. Of interest though are contributions to the British journal
featuring a comparison between Anglo-American and German readings of
Nietzsche and education (Rosenow, 2000), and a perspectival account of
Nietzschean education in terms of lies and obedience (Ramaekers 2001).
The focus of the journal articles referred to ranges from an emphasis on the
teaching style and message of Nietzsche’s Zarathustra, to a broad interpretation of
Nietzsche’s other educational writings. What follows is a brief synopsis of each
paper outlining the main points of educational significance attributed to
Nietzsche’s work. At this stage, it seems important to extract and delineate the
main points of the debate presented so far. Little evaluative analysis is entered into
in this chapter, as the issues are broader than this kind of scan would allow. The
investigative discussion is conducted throughout the following chapters.
Writing some thirty years ago, Hillesheim (1973) finds in Nietzsche’s
educational philosophy the notion of ‘self-surpassing’, as the means through which
an organism exercises its will to power and gives form to itself. Nietzsche believed
that the flourishing of Greek culture depended on the spirit of contest between
man’s ‘noble’ desires and his most terrifying instincts, which one must not
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EDUCATION’S NIETZSCHE
suppress or attempt to escape from. In the spirit of that contest, the self-surpassing
person will seek out the most awesome opponents.
For Nietzsche, the contest itself is neither good nor evil, but is a means to an
end, drawing its character from what it strives towards. The greatness of a culture
depends not on how well it educates its masses, but on how well it educates its
elite. He sees that contest serves the ends of genius and genuine culture, while
attempts at bringing culture to the masses in the form of higher education is merely
encouraging a mediocre majority. Given the different capacities, talents, strengths,
and limitations, to accord everyone equal rights or equal treatment would be the
height of injustice.
Hillesheim defends Nietzsche from accusations of ruthlessness, suggesting that
his militaristic passages are explainable as metaphor, and that often when
Nietzsche speaks of war he is referring to the contest of ideas, thoughts, and values.
Nietzsche believes that the masses are not enlightened enough to see that the
advancement of society depends upon a few rare, creative individuals, and that
their own welfare stems from the production of genius. The article appears to
agree with Nietzsche’s elitist philosophy in relation to education, but does pose a
question that students of Nietzsche’s educational philosophy must face: “What
price is one willing to pay for the creation of the genius or superman?”
(Hillesheim, 1973, p. 353). The fact that no answer is provided leaves any elitist
position vulnerable in the face of criticism from proponents of liberal education in
a democratic society.
Writing in the same journal volume, Rosenow (1973) suggests that Nietzsche’s
absence from the histories of educational thought may stem from the very fact that
such elitist thinking does not easily blend with currently acceptable educational
theories. Nevertheless, he argues that many of the problems which preoccupy
Nietzsche are those of traditional educational philosophy, the only difference being
Nietzsche’s radical interpretation. Nietzsche’s justification of education is not that
it can reform society or one’s fellow man, but that it can reform and improve
oneself. Rosenow argues that even for Rousseau and Dewey, the aim of education
was not a natural and free human being but a complete acceptance of the authority
of the (democratic) society. In other words, the rhetoric of individual freedom
serves specific political interests. His analysis of Nietzsche’s early educational
lectures concludes that academic freedom is an “ideological fiction in which the
State attempts to camouflage its manipulation of the intellectuals” (1973, p. 357).
The aim of social institutions and social norms is to subjugate the individual and
suppress man’s will to power, since individuality is by its nature anti-social. One
of Nietzsche’s objections to modern liberal democracy is the glorification of
equality.
Rosenow explains Nietzsche’s ideal of a synthesis between Dionysian
experience and Apollonian illusion. He argues that this ideal has been distorted by
the Socratic focus on intellectualism, adopted as a defence-mechanism against the
power of the Dionysian experience. Nietzsche would have the Socratic principle of
reason as foreign to authentic human nature. Instead, in Schopenhauer as
Educator, he says that the real essence of man is not deep inside himself, but rather
far above himself and able to be revealed to man by his true educators.
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CHAPTER 4
Rosenow identifies the educational significance of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and
relates many of the events to metaphors in terms of Nietzsche’s philosophy.
Zarathustra’s cave is portrayed as a complete negation of Plato’s cave, the classical
parable of humanistic education. The end of the story has Zarathustra sitting in the
entrance to his cave surrounded by a snake, an eagle, doves and a lion who chases
away the herd of confused nihilists. The narrative provides what Rosenow sees as
a Nietzschean ideal: a man who has gotten over the Socratic fallacy and achieved
the Dionysian experience while safeguarding at the same time the Apollonian
illusion – a reconciliation seen as a desirable attribute of Nietzsche’s Übermensch.
The Nietzschean idea of freedom is portrayed, not as arbitrariness and of
uncurbed drives, but as a progression towards man’s authentic being, resulting
from a deep feeling of responsibility on man’s part. This is a freedom man can
achieve only by himself, only by struggling with himself. It is not to be equated
with lawlessness, but with a more positive view of freedom in which man exercises
mastery over himself, and a full responsibility for his own good and bad actions.
Rosenow argues that the heavy burden for such a move is loneliness and isolation
from society. In fact, Nietzsche’s educational philosophy is often criticised for its
elitist and anti-social nature, and for the way it isolates man and eliminates the
possibility of inter-personal communication. Rosenow raises the question of
whether such a philosophy can nevertheless be considered within the realm of
education, and claims that as we face the crisis of nihilism, we have no choice but
to turn to Nietzsche’s educational theory as “the most systematic and the most
consistent working out of the idea of radical free education in the history of
educational thought” (Rosenow, 1973, p. 370).
With no acknowledgement of the earlier journal papers, Gordon (1980) writes in
the British journal as a response to Heidegger’s lecture Who is Nietzsche’s
Zarathustra?. Heidegger (1985)35 had interpreted Zarathustra as an advocate of the
proposition that all being is will to power, as the teacher of eternal return, and thus
as teacher of the overman. Gordon claims, however, that Heidegger does not go
far enough in his portrayal of Zarathustra as an educator, especially in terms of how
Zarathustra taught that vision and how this undertaking influenced him as a
teacher, since the style of the teacher is just as important as the content of the
teachings. Zarathustra he says, “constantly indicated that his teachings relate to
man’s entire life and not only to his thinking” (Gordon, 1980, p. 188).
Gordon analyses various themes arising in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, arguing that
Zarathustra abandons the human herd, and as an example of his own teachings,
commits himself to the trajectory described in the three metamorphoses: the camel,
as the spirit who ladens itself with burdens so that it can rejoice in its own strength;
the lion, who creates freedom by rejecting historically ingrained values; and the
child, who can will its own creation from innocence.
Zarathustra’s derision of the preachers of virtue and the afterworld is also seen
to have educational significance. First, it identifies the values and attitudes that
must be abandoned to move towards the superman; second, it provides spiritual
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35 Although the volume cited was published in 1985, the lecture “Who is Nietzsche’s Zarathustra?”
was delivered by Heidegger in 1953.
EDUCATION’S NIETZSCHE
burdens for the disciples to begin their own metamorphosis; and third, it introduces
his pupils to a unique style of teaching. By dancing from aphorism to aphorism,
Zarathustra copes with the horror of becoming who he is, and is able to celebrate
his own existence and find joy in sharing his wisdom.
Gordon suggests that Zarathustra’s journeys are reflected in his educational
message: that to develop a profound relationship to Being, “a person must be
willing to burden himself with his personal destiny” (1980, p. 185), a willingness
that can be developed by learning to live in solitude, and by finding friends who
will confront him with difficult truths. He identifies three distinguishing features
that render Zarathustra’s approach to education worth remembering: first, the
pupil’s existential situation is the starting point for the teacher of the superman;
second, Zarathustra’s approach is extremely anti-dogmatic and anti-catechistic; and
third, Zarathustra’s approach is inspired by rejoicing in life. Zarathustra models
‘living creatively, with each part of the mosaic-like book acting as a new
beginning, and as a self examining model of his own teachings – a “dedicated,
sensitive, courageous and creative educator, well worth emulating” (ibid., p. 191).
Writing in the same journal two years later, Jenkins (1982) responds with a
summary of Gordon’s earlier argument and a portrayal of Zarathustra’s educational
style. He surmises that Gordon fully approves of this type of creative, personal,
individualistic and open-ended style of teaching. However, Jenkins makes the
point that such liberal education is the antithesis of Nietzsche’s philosophy:
“Whatever else he may have been the one thing that Nietzsche was not was a
‘liberal’, and it is unthinkable that his most famous persona, Zarathustra, was
either” (p.253). He thereby questions the ‘use’ of Nietzsche for a purpose that
Nietzsche himself would have flatly rejected, although ‘liberal’ is a contested term
that accounts for a multitude of perspectives. This point of disagreement between
the two writers highlights an important issue within Nietzschean debate – whether
Nietzsche operates in the spirit of cruel domination or whether he advocates the
existence of difference. This book argues the latter.
Jenkins’ claim is that Gordon focusses on the form of Zarathustra’s teachings at
the expense of content. When Nietzsche’s philosophy and Zarathustra’s message
is taken into account, Jenkins believes (contra Gordon) that Zarathustra is both
dogmatic and catechistic, and that Zarathustra’s (i.e., Nietzsche’s) dogma is the
only way to explain why Zarathustra abandons the masses and seeks an elite
audience, and why at the end of the day this ‘educator to be emulated’ has
successfully educated absolutely nobody. Jenkins suggests that Zarathustra is
elitist, with no intention of educating the masses out of their ‘natural’ herd
mentality. He also believes that Zarathustra’s concern about having ‘come too
soon’ stems from Nietzsche’s rigid belief in how great men emerge. Jenkins sees
Thus Spoke Zarathustra as catechistic, providing little room for ‘free’ creation. On
the contrary, he depicts a much less humane scenario in which “Nietzsche’s freewheeling,
dancing creators, dance only on conditions that actually enslave the great
mass of humanity” (1982, p. 252).
Cooper (1983b) reviews the papers by Gordon and Jenkins, noting that both
papers draw inferences about Nietzsche’s educational ideas from Zarathustra. He
argues that these ideas contradict Nietzsche’s other writings that are explicitly
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about education. He suggests that Thus Spoke Zarathustra is not about education
and teaching as such; rather, Zarathustra/Nietzsche can be seen as the founder of
Nietzschean philosophy and not necessarily exhibiting a teaching style to be
emulated. The term ‘teacher’ as applied to Zarathustra is seen more as a title of
greatness (like professor) than a description of educative activity.
Cooper criticises Gordon for his muddling of existentialism with personal
destiny. Nietzsche, he says, is clear that the idea of ‘being’ and ‘becoming’ is not
about finding a personal essence or destiny, but about becoming a “free, authentic
creator of values, purposes, and ‘perspectives’ for oneself” (1983b, p. 123). He
argues that an interpretation that leads to the horticultural version of ‘child-centred’
pedagogy does not fit with Nietzsche. Even if Zarathustra does have a ‘destiny’,
others may not. Anyway, says Cooper, Nietzsche talks about ‘being’ a destiny
rather than ‘having’ one, which may be a prescription for a small elite as “vehicles
of an inevitable, ‘destined’, revaluation of all values” (ibid.).
Cooper sees Gordon’s account as an inner one, helping people to delve into
themselves, to identify and respond to their ‘personal destinies’. Jenkins’ concern
with the outer focus on order of rank and overcoming as a social endeavour is also
mistaken, according to Cooper. Nietzsche’s political preference is for a minimal
State, guaranteeing the stability for the spirit of nobility to emerge. For Cooper,
the spirit of the overman does not involve political tyranny so much as selflegislation,
with the creative power to construct perspectives, confer meanings and
escape mediocrity. Reference to richness is that of spirit and character. Cooper
claims that Nietzsche’s criticism of democracy is not so much about the political
institution, but the “ideology of equal rights, general happiness and wisdom of the
people” (1983b, p. 125). In spite of the mistaken idea about individual destiny,
Cooper concludes that Gordon is closer than Jenkins in identifying the goals of
Nietzschean education.
A weakness identified in the earlier papers lies in the ignoring of Nietzsche’s
‘psychological’ philosophy, even though it is central to his educational thesis.
Golomb’s (1985) focus on the psychological view is based not on Thus Spoke
Zarathustra, but on his own reading of Schopenhauer as Educator. His
interpretation is that man’s individuality can be attained through being liberated
from ideological illusions, achieving the existentialist ideal of a harmony between
the innermost self and its outer expression. The purpose of the unmasking is “to
assist us in overcoming this repressive culture and to entice us into discovering in,
and for ourselves, the genuine roots of our creative powers” (1985, p. 100). The
focus is on exemplary figures rather than self-analysis – not surprising considering
Schopenhauer was one of Nietzsche’s exemplary figures. The focus on an
educator then is more to do with his existential consistency than the philosophy
expounded, the who and the how more than the what. This position leads
Nietzsche to reject as simple solutions both the Dionysian model of spontaneous
pre-cultural man and the Apollonian model of theory and contemplation. Instead,
authenticity is found in Schopenhauerian Man who reconciles the Apollonian and
the Dionysian, pursues personal truthfulness and lives a life of struggle and
conquest over his personal predicament.
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Staying within the psychological sphere, Golomb draws similarities between
Nietzsche’s ‘higher self’ and Freud’s super-ego, both of which feature a critical,
moral agency as an antithesis to the instinctual drives of the individual. But in
contrast to Freud who has the process as unconscious, Nietzsche contends that we
can shape our ideals by freely choosing our educators and exemplary figures. In
this view, Nietzsche’s self-overcoming is not about an a priori essence, but about
freely creating values for oneself. Golomb argues that Nietzsche would reject
Freud’s ego and id because of their deterministic nature, leaving the idea of a
fruitful and genuine ‘higher self’ whose function is to direct toward the constitution
and realisation of moral “supra-natural ideals” (1985, p. 106). However, a note of
caution is sounded here about use of the term ‘supra-natural’, since Nietzsche’s
focus was very much on the worldly self. Such a term may be acceptable if the
focus is on becoming more that one currently is, rather than any aspiration to preexisting
order or elevation of Platonic forms. The cultivation of a superior culture
through creative reconstruction explains the elevated status accorded to artists,
saints and philosophers, and for Nietzsche, justifies as a focus for education the
production of individual great men.
Also drawing upon Schopenhauer as Educator, Hillesheim (1986) describes the
essay as an inquiry into Nietzsche’s agonistic philosophy. He suggests as possible
alternative titles, ‘Evil as Educator’, ‘The Pedagogy of Pain’, or ‘A Curriculum of
Suffering’ – alternatives which highlight the focus of the paper on the relationship
between suffering and education. According to Hillesheim, the person who
surpasses himself thus can be seen as a goal of education. This goal is
distinguishable from other theories of self-realisation by its extreme openendedness
and its “elevation of suffering and other evils as the cornerstone to self
cultivation” (p. 172). The Greek agon as a public contest provides a model for
individual living, in which man should take this concept and turn it inward:
to apply it to the theatre of the mind and heart, to convert it into a universal
principle of individual creativity. It is the contest waged within one’s own
psyche, the confrontation of images, ideas, values and emotions, that
provides the necessary fuel or energy for the dynamic process of self
surpassing (p. 173).
Consequently, ‘evil’ impulses and suffering are to be welcomed as necessity for
strengthening of the spirit, and what has been deemed as good or evil needs to be
revalued in the light of the goal of self-surpassing. Hillesheim is careful to point
out that Nietzsche does not reject all values, but is concerned with an attempt at
new valuations, so that anger can be put to good use and seen as a good. Physical
and spiritual hardships are posed as inevitable for the truth-seeker, with various
quotations from Nietzsche suggesting that the best that man can hope for is not the
happy life, but the heroic one, with the emphasis on pain and suffering reflecting
much of Nietzsche’s own life. Nietzsche is reported as judging a philosopher by
whether he is able to serve as an example in his visible life and not merely through
books. Hillesheim suggests that Nietzsche measures up to his own standard as a
man who “heroically, continued to transform his physical torments and spiritual
abysses into one of the most ‘yea-saying’ philosophies in the Western world” (p.
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176). Nietzsche’s requirement that the philosopher’s visible life be exemplary is
difficult to reconcile with Hillesheim’s image of Nietzsche’s own visible life: the
picture of a driven suffering:
isolation and loneliness in his philosophical quest, his loss of friends and love
and, perhaps most tragic of all, the unidentified disease that was
progressively to devastate his body, forcing him to resign his university
position in 1879, sending him wandering over Europe in search of a cure or at
least relief from the painful bouts of migraine, prolonged vomiting, nearblindness,
and sleeplessness that plagued him until his sudden collapse on the
streets of Turin in 1889, hopelessly insane at the age of forty-four
(Hillesheim, 1986, p. 176).
To live with such a contradiction, one might have to accept one’s philosophy as
never finished, and as emanating from the continuous challenge that life presents.
Adopting quite a different stance, Simons (1988) shows the similarities between
the educational philosophies of Nietzsche and Montessori. Although appearing to
support both, he asserts that Nietzsche’s position is untenable. A number of
quotations from Montessori are presented, which reveal the impact of Nietzschean
thought on her work. In the spirit of the Nietzschean contest the Montessori child
must struggle alone to achieve and evolve; the inner force of will should be
expressed and directed towards constructive ends; the authentic individual is to be
independent and free from conventional mores; and there should be less mutual
protection through kindness and love.
Simons presents a clear picture of many of Nietzsche’s central concerns,
including his image of safety, comfort and love as the antithesis of the struggle
towards the superior man. Nietzsche’s will to power is defended against Darwin,
with the ideal of the overman portrayed in the botanical metaphor of the tall tree
that thrusts outwards with great power, a unique specimen rather than an improving
evolutionary response to outside agencies. There is also a focus on the purpose of
education being the overman, rather than the production of people technically
useful for the industrial and military machine. It is this latter purpose that Simons
suggests is served by the emancipation of women. He refers to Nietzsche’s
assessment of woman as a natural ‘cat’ being deprived of her enchantment under
the cloak of ‘equal opportunity’. Simons at this point appears to be trying to rescue
Nietzsche for attributing to women ‘feminine follies’, ‘dilettantism’, and ‘brainbewildering
chatter’.
The paper takes a surprising turn when, after devoting over seven pages
apparently supporting Nietzsche’s philosophy and analysing his impact on
Montessorian education, there suddenly appears the claim that “it seems quite
wrong to say that creativity and authentic individuality are attainable only by a
small elite at the expenses of the vast majority” (Simons, 1988, p. 348). Here
Simons undoes the botanical metaphor, suggesting that the soil in which educated
people have their roots is not depleted or robbed of value by being made available
to millions. He adopts the position that although struggle is important as an
evolutionary mechanism, the encouragement of genius does not mean everyone
else should be treated like cattle. Despite Simons’ inability to reconcile his own
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humanitarianism with Nietzsche’s sometimes perplexing will to power, the article
makes a useful contribution to the exploration of the educational content of
Nietzsche’s writing by exposing its thematic similarities to a recognised educator
such as Montessori.
Aloni (1989) labels Nietzsche a ‘counternihilistic philosopher-educator’,
arguing that the guiding principle of Nietzsche’s philosophy is the exploration of
cultural conditions and ways of life that could lift man to higher modes of
existence. Three pedagogical dimensions of Nietzsche’s work are explored:
recovery of health and worth as education’s aim, endorsement of holistic
education, and a harmonious combination of themes and styles.
As the first of three dimensions, Aloni describes Nietzsche’s radical redefinition
of the aim of education as a focus on health and worth, arguing that Nietzsche’s
counternihilistic notions of the Dionysian, the overman, noble morality, and the
will to power are primarily conceptual tools which provide the means toward the
elevation and enhancement of man – Nietzsche’s ultimate aim of a healing
education.
The second dimension is Nietzsche’s ‘pedagogical anthropology’: the search for
the favourable conditions under which great human beings and noble cultures can
come into being. This search is broken into two categories. The first appears to be
historical, describing a genealogy of Nietzsche’s educational thought, comprising
various inquiries into the ways in which specific philosophies, moralities, and
religions hindered or promoted the enhancement of man. It includes the
examination, in The Birth of Tragedy, of the nature and value of the Dionysian,
Apollonian, and Socratic modes of living; the comparison, in Schopenhauer as
Educator, of the Rousseauian, Goethean, and Schopenhauerian images of man; the
critical inquiry, in Beyond Good and Evil and On the Genealogy of Morals, into the
origin, and nature of different types of moral evaluations; and the exploration,
throughout his works, of the essential and common characteristics of the points in
history in which great human beings arise. The second category appears to be
more prescriptive, containing the following elements: the overman as a supreme
ideal, for which all other goals in life should be subservient; a conception of man
as a ‘bridge’ towards self-transcendence; and a creative self-determination of
meanings, values, and ideals rather than a preordained moral world order.
The third pedagogical dimension concerns the educative nature of Nietzsche’s
works, and their potential for educating educators and empowering individuals
toward authentic, autonomous, and creative life. Aloni refers here to Nietzsche’s
challenge to mediocre life, and his contention that philosophical works should
reflect the context of the author’s whole life. As an example of this, he believes
Nietzsche’s poetic style, that abolishes the distinction between form and content,
reflects Nietzsche’s holistic approach to life.
Finally, Aloni stresses that Nietzsche’s philosophy requires us not merely to
gain an academic understanding of his work, but to “appropriate Nietzsche’s
themes and styles to establish an intellectual and existential context that would
make it possible to overcome ourselves and the limits of nihilism” (Aloni, 1989, p.
306).
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Rosenow (1989) affirms Hillesheim’s earlier interpretation of Nietzsche’s
conception of self-cultivation through suffering and pain, as opposed to feelings of
satisfaction and pleasure inherent in Dewey’s idea of ‘growth’. He argues that the
suffering arises because ‘self-overcoming’ involves not only the traditional concept
of self-mastery, but also the ‘annihilation’ of the former self. Traditional education
can be thought of as aiming at an internalisation of external authority in the form of
reason and moral behaviour. However, for Nietzsche, the essence of man is his
uniqueness and singularity as he strives to realise his potentialities through the will
to power. When Nietzsche talks of ‘overcoming’ then, he is referring to the social
and cultural mechanisms that adapt man to human society, repress his nature and
deny his freedom. This view explains Nietzsche’s rebellion against established
norms and values, the overcoming of his socially defined personality, and the lack
of reverence for scholars and philosophers who advocate the supremacy of reason,
although such rebellion is not seen as legitimating licentiousness, since man has to
overcome his own ‘self’ as well.
Rosenow also explains Nietzsche’s attitude towards pity as the ultimate sin, and
the desperate struggle involved in overcoming both erotic love and the love of
one’s neighbour; that is, overcoming one’s deep human need for mutual
understanding and communication. The crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus
Christ, is provided as a model for Nietzsche’s view of the destruction and rebirth of
Dionysus. Whereas God on the cross sought redemption from life, suffering
Dionysus will be eternally reborn. Pain and suffering is thus portrayed as the
prerequisite of life creation.
Although there is widespread acceptance of much of Nietzsche’s criticism of the
social and political establishment, Rosenow believes that the transformation of the
individual through self-overcoming has not been so readily accepted. He sees a
danger of nihilistic decline if we disregard the need for renunciation and sacrifice
as part of Nietzsche’s ideal. The decline is explained in terms of the paradox of
contemporary education, which promotes the traditional concepts of self-mastery
and self-control (i.e., the overcoming of instincts by reason), at the same time as
dismissing reason and liberating the emotions. The paradox and the nihilistic
decline are not resolved by Rosenow, who resorts instead to Nietzsche’s
description of himself as ‘dynamite’ – to be handled carefully and not easily
contained.
Hillesheim, writing again in 1990, responds to Rosenow’s ‘educational
dynamite’ theory, making much of the difference between ‘self-surpassing’ and
‘self-overcoming’ as translations of Nietzsche’s selbstüberwindung. Although
both authors agree that it is the traditional concept of ‘self-mastery’ or ‘selfcontrol’
that Nietzsche challenges, Hillesheim argues that the term ‘selfovercoming’
conjures up the very sort of dualistic thinking Nietzsche was trying to
overcome. He believes that both ‘overcoming’ and ‘surpassing’ nuances are
present in the original and that we must treat it not as a case of ‘either-or’, but
rather of ‘both-and’. Hillesheim is also cautious about the use of the word ‘self’
insofar as it conjures up an image of a single unified thing. Nietzsche has no such
ontological entity, and Hillesheim would prefer a ‘less misleading fiction’ such as a
multiplicity of selves.
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Turning from linguistics to the process of overcoming, Hillesheim suggests that
the reason Nietzsche might advocate such a journey is that if life has any meaning
and direction, it is to be found in the individual’s capacity and willingness to create
and re-create his/her innermost self. The ongoing process of creation and recreation
of one’s self, and thus of one’s ‘nature’, is what Nietzsche has labelled
‘self-overcoming’. It is this concept that provides the core of Nietzsche’s
conception of true education and culture.
In Hillesheim’s account, Nietzsche’s process involves emulating people, real or
imaginary, who are worthy of being our educators. We learn to become who we
are, or who we can be, by the stimulus of example, following the Platonic ideals in
order to reveal the pathways to self-overcoming and a more authentic existence
Although the most worthy figure we are offered by Nietzsche is the Übermensch,
he also proposed as models worth emulating: the Rousseauian man, driven by a
Dionysian desire for freedom; the Goethian man, of detached intellect and
Apollonian caution; and the Schopenhauerian man, incorporating both the unifying
passion of Dionysus and the individualising intellect of Apollo in the pursuit of
truthfulness. All three represent in varying degrees successful attempts to give
meaning to the human condition.
Aviram (1991) takes the notion of overcoming further, arguing that, in spite of
Nietzsche’s animosity towards humanism, liberalism and democracy, his ideal of
the overman is not only possible, but also consistent with a liberal view of
education. Aviram suggests that the different perspectives in the previous papers
originate not in mistaken interpretations, but in contradictions in the Nietzschean
text itself, and reconciles the apparent differences in meaning of the term
‘overcoming’ by identifying different mixes of rationality, religion, societal norms,
essentialism and existentialism. He suggests these contradictions appear on three
levels: the epistemological level, as the difference between perspectivism and
objective ideals; the ontological level, as the possibility for existence of an
overman; and the psychological level, with overcoming as spontaneity or a chosen
lifestyle. Such a multilevel perspective enables Aviram to reconcile various and
sometimes competing points of view.
To extract educational thought from Nietzsche’s work, Aviram argues that it is
useless to consider his work as intentionally paradoxical, or merely as metaphor.
Rather it is necessary to work towards a coherent concept of the overman. Within
Nietzsche’s view, neither the essentialist nor the existentialist notion of authenticity
provides a basis for self-overcoming. Instead, Aviram suggests a continuum of
‘sublimation’, with the individual struggling to raise the level of feeling of power
and will to power.
Nietzsche’s objection to democratic ideals is posited as stemming from three
assumptions; that individuals are not equal, that overman development requires an
aristocratic or elitist society, and that freedom and equality diminish individual
ability for self-overcoming. Aviram provides convincing argument to show that
these assumptions are compatible with a Millian conception of autonomy (one
without universal reason) and with Nietzsche’s concept of the overman as a genius
able to contribute to the common good. Although Jenkins (1982) is adamant that
Nietzsche is not a liberal, Aviram’s claim that Nietzsche’s ideas can be used to
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support democracy may be defended by his observation that Nietzsche “never
intended to supply us with a systematic philosophical resolution of all life’s
riddles” (Aviram, 1991, p. 226), and that in Nietzschean spirit, we should use
modern theories to provide a productive framework of thought about what would
constitute the desired individual.
The issue of democracy as a Nietzschean project is given a further airing in the
American journal a few years later with Sassone’s (1996) ‘philosophy across the
curriculum’ project, in which she takes issue with the tendency to limit the use of
Nietzsche to an aristocratic reading. This is not to suggest that a democratic
reading is an ‘essential’ or ‘true’ rendition, but a claim that Nietzsche had many
voices. The unveiling of a democratic Nietzsche, then, is the “disclosure of one of
the discernible personae in Nietzsche’s texts” (Sassone, 1996, p. 511). The
implications for education emerging from such a view involve a number of explicit
principles: an individualised pedagogy, a ‘self-observational discourse’ that calls
for strong self-critique, a recognition of language as constitutive of the self,
‘generativity’ and creativity as powerful driving forces, embodiment as a
manifestation of existence, and health as an affirmation of life. To adopt a
pedagogy informed by such Nietzschean perspectives, Sassone concludes, a
teacher must be observant and responsive, must be continually reassessing the
classroom experience (including herself), adapting to new concerns and enhancing
individualisation and generating and articulating new interpretations of the
familiar.
The issue of Nietzsche and education is revived in the American journal two
years later with two papers addressing the earlier debate. Johnston (1998; 2001)
reviewed most of the earlier papers on the topic in what he called a ‘reexamination’,
which adds little to the debate, except for his claim that Nietzsche’s
overman represents a selfish and detached individualism with little regard for the
social. The charge ignores Sassone’s reading and fails to take into account
Nietzsche’s interactive engagement with his predecessors and his contemporaries.
Another paper in the same journal that year is a contribution by Bingham, again
adding little to the previous debate, accusing earlier writers of “literary naïveté”
(Bingham, 1998, p. 229) for moving outside a narrow focus on Nietzsche’s concern
with rhetoric. Conjecturing that Nietzsche’s educational philosophy is best taken
solely from his early specific writings on the topic (a debatable conjecture),
Bingham allows himself to stray into a comparison with Freirean theory and into
Deleuze’s commentary on eternal return – a much later construct for Nietzsche,
detracting from Bingham’s intention to maintain the particular focus on rhetoric.
After a silence of almost ten years in the British journal, Rosenow (2000)
addresses many of the earlier journal contributions in an interesting overview of
the debate about Nietzsche’s educational legacy. The overview is framed as a
comparison between Anglo-American interpretations (including those from Israel)
with those of German scholars. He notes that the former assemble various
‘educational Nietzsches’ into a “whole and coherent portrayal of Nietzsche as a
democratic and humane educator par excellence” (p. 678), whereas the latter
decisively reject Nietzsche as having little useful to say about education. Rosenow
outlines what is wrong with the Anglo-American perspective:
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Nietzsche’s egoism turns into disguised autonomy, the aggression of the will
to power is stamped with Kantian ethics, Nietzsche’s solipsism is uncovered
as a road to universal education and the elitist order of rank becomes a
paragon of liberal democracy (Rosenow, 2000, p. 678).
Rosenow’s sympathies appear to lie with the German interpretation, where the
focus is on whether Nietzsche’s conception of education stands the pedagogical
test of time, and whether he is to be regarded as having elaborated an educational
theory worthy of the name. This dual focus aligns education with pedagogy and
fails to engage with a broader view of education (and therefore educational
philosophy) as a political contest. What is missing from this focus is the question
of whether Nietzsche’s ideas can be used to inform and enliven contrasting views
of education, in line with Nietzsche’s own invocation for his followers to “lose me
and find yourselves” (Z I, On the Gift-Giving Virtue §3). Rosenow seems uneasy
about what he calls the “manipulative misappropriation of Nietzsche’s writings”
(2000, p. 683), indicating that he is possibly searching for an essence or a purity in
Nietzsche’s meaning, although the conclusion of the paper is clear that educational
theory has always been eclectic and selective, and that philosophy of education
serves a political and social function. Although Rosenow appears to favour the
German interpretation36, he sounds a cautionary note about any belief that a
solution has been reached. Nietzsche, he says, “was and remains both a vision and
an enigma” (2000, p. 684).
The following issue of the British journal features a paper from Belgian author,
Stefan Ramaekers (2001) who, also engaging with earlier journal contributions,
takes issue with Johnston’s (1988) account of Nietzsche’s overman as an example
of radically detached and solipsistic individualism. Using the notions of
‘obedience’ and ‘lies’, Ramaekers offers a perspectival account of a Nietzschean
education, arguing cogently that human beings are embedded in their culture and
history, with education as the process by which they are taught to see the world
from a particular perspective. ‘Obedience’ and ‘lies’ then are a reflection of one’s
current state of enculturation, necessary as a starting place for any new system of
values. One’s knowledge of culture and history become ‘lies’ which can be
remoulded to take account of new experience and perspectives.
Ramaekers argues, therefore, that education can be understood as ‘teaching one
to lie’, as initiating the child into a particular view of what is valuable and worth
living for. Education, as teaching the child to put things into perspective, means
“passing through what is worth living for without pretending that the perspective
the child is initiated into, is universal and absolute in nature” (2001, p. 264). With
no ‘essence’ of world against which to contrast the idea of ‘perspective’, the
36 Rosenow (2004) was to reassert in another publication his ‘German’ interpretation of Nietzsche’s
perspective on education, as a review of an edited collection on Nietzsche’s legacy for education
(Peters et al., 2001). He takes issue with the use of Nietzsche’s philosophy for ‘genealogical
criticism’ and ‘perspectival interpretation’, and disagrees that Nietzsche would support a cultural
pluralism of values. A response by one of the book’s editors (Peters, 2004) argues the shortcomings
of the review for suggesting that the books authors should somehow be ‘concordant in their
treatment of Nietzsche’s new philosopher’ and for the failure to see the intention of several of the
book’s contributors to relate Nietzsche to poststructuralism.
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Nietzschean subject of education engages with reconstituting and rearticulating her
perspective, with philosophy necessarily emanating from existing values, and
language relying on customary metaphors for its ability to communicate. In this
account, embeddedness does not constitute the final limit on future possibilities. In
other words, there is no ‘self’ constituted permanently within an existing and
objective truth. Nietzsche’s philosophy is portrayed not as pleading for mere
subjectivism or for relativism, but as underlining the importance of serious
engagement with what one stands for.
Writing again in the American journal, Bingham (2001) works with Nietzsche’s
early thoughts on education in an attempt to “demarcate the goals of Nietzsche’s
philosophical project from the goals of German education of the late nineteenth
century” (p. 337). In the attempt, he argues for a radical break from education that
reifies rather than questions formulation of a ‘self’, preferring instead the notion of
‘self-reformulation’. Although the conclusion is clear and follows the author’s
expressed intention, the paper takes a rather circuitous route conflating the notion
of education with the institutions that are involved with it. Used interchangeably
throughout the paper are such terms as ‘schooling’, ‘universal education’, ‘mass
education’, ‘educational institutions’, ‘education in schools’, ‘educational system’,
‘education for the masses’ and ‘democratic education’. The terms are used in such
a way that the reader is led to believe that Nietzsche holds no hope for education.
Additionally, the paper claims that Nietzsche condemns the future of our
educational institutions. As argued already, however, Nietzsche’s early writing
clearly valued education as a preparation for the Übermensch and acknowledged
the utility value of institutions for societal reproduction.
Bingham’s argument for self-reformulation is underpinned by a distinction
between the reified notion of the ‘self’ of modernity and the more flexible idea of
Nietzschean subjectivity as process and multiplicity. Although the author talks in
terms of process (i.e., ‘self-hood’ and ‘self-reformulation’), and even though he
cites Nietzsche’s claim that the self is “not an essence to be described or
prescribed” (p. 340), Bingham appears to be working with a particular entity
against which he evaluates various claims. There is frequent reference to an
essence of ‘self-hood’ that leads the reader back to the modernist conception of an
entity called ‘self’, which the author on behalf of Nietzsche then rejects. In spite of
the technical difficulties outlined above that bury education under its institutions
and leave the reader stretched between reified ‘self’ and Nietzschean ‘subjectivity’,
Bingham provides a useful exegesis of Nietzsche’s account of education and
culture, and an eventual distinction between Nietzsche’s desire for education and
his caution about the way its institutions functioned at that time.
The Australasian journal contributes two recent papers to this discussion, both
interpretive of Nietzschean epistemology to derive philosophical direction in
education. Gregory (2001) works with the secondary nature of Nietzsche’s
rationality – at heart, a Schopenhauerian construct with rationality as subservient to
the Will – to portray human beings as engaged in two kinds of knowledge: the
system building of rationality, and intuitive or imaginative experience of the world.
“Without the former, experience would not be sensible enough to allow us to
formulate intentions, but without the latter we find ourselves trapped in archaic
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habits of thought, feeling and action” (Gregory, 2001, p. 26). The paper then
relates Nietzsche’s scepticism to Peirce’s pragmatic account of rationality to yield
implications for education. What follows from such a pragmatic account is the
need to treat received ideas as fallible and therefore challengeable; and the
importance of facilitating the creative participation of students in knowledge
creation. Making our rational habits tentative is not a nihilistic step, Gregory
suggests, since many of those habits will still prevail as eminently useful.
Strategically, such a direction might involve cultivating intuitive experience,
encouraging flexibility in the interpretation of those intuitions, along with
providing practice in applying that intuition in ways that make practical sense.
The other paper in the Australasian journal, (Tubbs, 2003), involves the return
of the teacher caught between metaphysics and subjective experience, struggling to
maintain faith in reason while knowing the contingency of the enlightenment. As
much an engagement with Kant and Plato as with Nietzsche, the paper draws upon
Plato’s tripartite model of struggle for goodness/justice within both the individual
soul (desire, spirit and reason) and the city state (money-makers, auxiliaries and
guardians) to inform Nietzsche’s valorisation of struggle. Like Plato’s struggles –
the soul for its own truth and the city for justice, Nietzsche’s story of Zarathustra is
interpreted as a teacher’s struggle for enlightenment – characterised in the tripartite
nature of the three metamorphoses of the spirit (Z I, On the Three Metamorphoses).
NIETZSCHE’S EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY
It is clear, then, that a Nietzschean philosophy of education must take into account
not only Nietzsche’s specific writings on the subject, but also the commentary he
has inspired from those working in the field. Consequently, it is proposed now to
identify some of the main themes that need to be engaged with in the rest of this
book. Rather than treating each of these as stand-alone items, it is proposed to
draw the threads together and discuss them in relation to recognised paradigms:
specifically, liberal-democracy, social democracy and poststructuralism. The
approach taken recognises the ‘centrist’ nature of Western educational discourses
and accepts that labels such as ‘liberalism’ or ‘democracy’ shape and describe
overlapping trends rather than merely delineate mutually exclusive domains. Such
an approach is seen as a means of bringing together existing practices with what is
often seen in Nietzsche as a radically aristocratic perspective. By drawing together
these seemingly disparate threads, it is hoped that something of value might be
seen in Nietzschean scholarship to challenge, inform and enrich existing practices.
In view of the above and in determining how Nietzsche’s thought might be applied
to educational theory, a number of themes appear useful.
Commentary in the journal debate generally reinforces the view that Nietzsche’s
thoughts about education are relevant to educational philosophy today, with his
figure of the Übermensch encapsulating much of his hopes for cultural enrichment
through education. His aesthetic approach to life and health as an ethical source
introduces a strong challenge to the imposition of cultural norms and to the rational
overlay on social life. He goes as far as to question the supremacy of reason as
relying on transcendental authority since it does little to enhance the natural life.
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Kantian scepticism about the limits of knowledge are still present in Nietzsche and
extend into an interrogation of any metaphysical realm beyond experience, leading
to a thoroughgoing critique of Christian morality and the rational basis for
knowledge of ‘truth’. Nietzsche’s theme of eternal recurrence can be seen as an
imperative to fully immerse ourselves and be the best we can be in the life we
have. This intensification of life is concomitant with his view of life as will to
power, to individual striving and to the highest hope for human possibility – the
Übermensch.
Nietzsche’s life-based philosophy calls for a holistic view of education in terms
of both direction and pedagogy. The joyful and creative existence requires more
than ‘scholarly grinding’ and scientific certainty, more than belief in metaphysical
reality. Instead, what is required is to embrace the richness of aesthetic experience
as the precursor to intellectual knowledge, and to face the sometimes grim realities
of life with a courageous truthfulness. Such a radically different educational
philosophy still yields familiar pedagogy, needing an educator who is challenging
yet reachable, who exudes greatness worth emulating, who is attentive and
adaptive to social and environmental factors, and who is creative in articulating
new directions. Nietzsche’s educator would also question all that is taken for
granted and facilitate the development of individual strengths and creative abilities,
all the while serving as an inspiration worthy of emulation. Linguistic
communication is important too in gaining mastery over the prevailing discourse,
in gaining facility with new metaphors for life, and in experiencing language as a
cultural medium. Nietzsche’s poetic and linguistic style challenges the staid
conventions according to which we define our present reality and provides an
inspiring platform for self-critique at both individual and cultural level.
With his ‘death of god’ undermining received notions of truth and yielding
multiple interpretations of what we mean by ‘self’, Nietzsche counters the prospect
of nihilism and proposes higher modes of existence through the creation of new
values, not bound by the strictures of convention or a moral world order.
Creativity is a powerful liberating force against received dogma and uniformity,
and it is in this capacity that Nietzsche offers us the possibility of social and
intellectual independence in what he calls the ‘revaluation of values’. Nietzsche’s
perspectivism, as a secularised version of the death of god, justifies the recognition
of difference as an ethical principle.
Strong in the Nietzschean canon is the notion of contest, struggle and suffering,
leading to accusations of ruthlessness, cruelty and militaristic attitudes. However,
such language can easily be interpreted as a metaphor for a contest of ideas,
thoughts, and values – as much an individual quest as a measuring up to others. As
a form of will to power, contest against adversarial opposition serves the purpose
of what modern capitalist economies would call ‘competition’, not only in
sharpening up the competitor him/herself, but also, as a result, in improving the
standard of competition. Internal struggle serves to strengthen the spirit and
provide the kind of challenge Nietzsche suggests is necessary for Übermenschlich
development, in that it provides a mechanism for embracing suffering, coping with
adversity and facing difficult obstacles.
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Needing to be addressed is the contention that Nietzsche’s philosophy is ‘elitist’
and extreme and that his Übermensch is a symbol of domination and oppression
working against democratic rights and social justice. The extension of this position
is that Nietzsche’s ideas reflect an animosity towards humanism, liberalism and
democracy and so should not be used to support a liberal democratic view of
education. After all, Nietzsche argues against social ideals taking precedence and
against equality as an ethical norm.
Countering this view are various interpretations of the term ‘overcoming’,
including the overcoming of entrenched and outworn norms and values, the
overcoming of personal difficulties and shortcomings, the triumph over personal
suffering and tragedy, and moving beyond the limits of self-identity. Such a
proposal provides the basis for a reworking of such aspects as individual freedom,
the promotion of genius (individuality), the overcoming of adversity, respect for
difference and the value of reflectivity and creativity. Admittedly, he does argue
the case for great leaders – a case that requires discipline and obedience, and for an
order of rank that does not accord equal status to all. However, such a model needs
to be contextualised against the larger project that Nietzsche was involved in, much
of which was a plea for an individual voice (possibly his own) against the
ascendancy of a socialist State, against the certainty of metaphysics, and against
conventional morality.
Far from promoting the selfish and unrestrained individual, Nietzsche’s
philosophy addresses the social and cultural relationship in which the individual is
defined and embedded. Refusing to be subject to the homogenising effects of
egalitarian politics, Nietzsche advocates the strengthening of culture by improving
the lot of its highest individuals – a contentious goal that is explored in subsequent
chapters of this book, particularly in relation to democracy and the politics of
difference.
Of importance to educational philosophy, especially in the realm of ethics, is the
relationship between society and its contingent selves, and one of Nietzsche’s
bugbears relevant to today’s thinkers in education is the level of restriction and
control that should be exercised by the State in this regard, particularly in relation
to the harnessing of education for economic purposes. Through government
control, standardised curricula and the constraints of cost efficiency, educational
institutions are charged with providing a skilled workforce and provide limited
scope for divergence or difference. Targeting learners to achieve pre-defined,
government-approved learning outcomes is as much about homogeneity and social
alignment as about education. Where the notion of personal challenge is
entertained in curriculum delivery, it is often in the sense of a person as an object
‘being challenged’, rather than as a subject ‘doing’ challenge. In the context of
Western educational institutions, subjectivity is generally bounded by Kantian
notions of autonomy, rationality and morality, and events must be within this
sphere to be considered properly educational.
In contrast, the act of establishing the nature and the parameters of personal
challenge for oneself positions a powerful subject in charge of future direction.
Such a notion of personal challenge is inherent in Nietzsche’s concept of
‘overcoming’. Through the figure of the Übermensch, Nietzsche portrayed his
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personal and often psychological philosophy of the importance of facing and
overcoming the difficulties that life presents, establishing one’s own definition of
existence, and standing back from the social definitions that constitute identity.
The examination of Nietzsche’s explicit writing about education, along with the
educational commentaries on his work, suggests that Nietzsche’s philosophy has
much to contribute to a worthwhile educational philosophy. Because of the
contestable nature of education and the broad sweep of Nietzsche’s brush, not
every possibility can be examined here. What is attempted in the remaining
chapters though, is a sharpened focus on the role of Nietzsche’s Übermensch as an
educational theme, undertaken through critical analysis of prevailing liberal and
democratic notions of education.
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NIETZSCHE, LIBERALISM AND EDUCATION
LIBERALISM AND LIBERAL EDUCATION
Humanist philosophy emphasises the dignity and worth of the individual, with a
basic premise that people are rational beings who possess within themselves the
capacity for truth and goodness. It is respect for this essential quality that is often
posited as the source of other human values and rights. After Descartes, human
experience and universal reason became the arbiter of knowledge about man and
the natural world. Humanism supplanted to some degree the adherence to
supernatural authority, and promoted the human senses as the source of empirical
data. As truth assumed the high place traditionally accorded to God, science
replaced religion as the legitimating narrative. This is not to say that religion has
no place in the modern world, but rather to point out the valorisation of reason in
the logic of modernity and its primacy in ordering the politic and therefore defining
what counts as education.
The invention of printing had provided impetus for humanism through the
dissemination of literature and art, including the messages of self-knowledge from
the human sciences. The study of letters and the liberal arts could provide practical
wisdom for daily life, based on the assumption that “universal norms underlay the
apparent diversity of examples found in humane letters, and that they could be
illuminated by the skeptical mode of reasoning” (Schiffman, 1994, p. 69).
Marshall (1996a) sees the development of liberalism as consonant with humanistic
values in its quest to ameliorate if not improve the human condition, although he
notes that rationalism has generally been aligned with scientific method.
Gaus & Courtland (2003) convey something of the difficulty with the term
‘liberalism’. They note that it can be understood as a political tradition, as a
political philosophy, or as a general philosophical or moral theory. As a political
tradition, liberalism varies in different countries. For example, they argue, the
English liberal tradition in politics has centred on religious toleration, government
by consent, and personal and economic freedom; whereas French liberalism is
more closely associated with secularism and democracy. Complicating matters is
disagreement among liberals over the concept of liberty itself. Contrasted with
Berlin’s (1969) negative conception of liberty as the absence of coercion or
interference, is a positive conception of liberty. Thomas Green (1986), for
example, advocates a focus on long-term interests rather than short-term impulses
which may involve limitations on immediate choices of action. Within liberalism,
interference must be justified in terms of promoting liberty, although because of
definitional differences this exercise is fraught. These differences obviously have
implications for how far the liberal state should intervene in private welfare and
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what degree of compulsion should be exercised in the education of its citizens.
Positive freedom advocates a particular level of control by constituted authority,
and is justified in the interests of the individual as a rational being.
Despite their differences, liberals maintain the need to justify such
interference37. Mill, for example, maintained an a priori assumption in favour of
freedom, arguing for a “limit to the legitimate interference of collective opinion
with individual independence” (1982, p. 63). Rawls's first principle of justice
demands that “Each person is to have an equal right to the most extensive total
system of equal basic liberties compatible with a similar system for all” (1973, p.
302). In Kantian terms, freedom is essential to moral action. In general, the liberal
objective is to increase the individual’s opportunity for freedom, with proponents
varying their approach depending on which version of freedom they espouse.
Under liberalism, beliefs, authority and social structures are generally subject to
rational scrutiny and to an idealised notion of ‘the good’ – in its many guises.
Adopting the basic premises of the humanist tradition, and caught in the same
definitional confusion as its parent discourse (liberalism), liberal education
concerns itself with the development of personal freedom and social progress. It
both relies upon and strengthens the notion of the individual as essentially rational,
and theorises patterns of interaction between the individual and the group to which
it belongs. Liberal education might be based on at least three critical assumptions:
first, the idea of personal autonomy where individuals are free from the authority
and dogmas of others; second, self-identity closely tied up with this notion of
personal autonomy; and third, an abiding faith that education, through the
development of personal autonomy, can ameliorate the human condition (Marshall,
1996a). In Nietzschean tradition, Foucault would deny that there is any such thing
as autonomy, in so far as it accepts universal laws, moral or otherwise. This denial
is treated in detail in the next chapter, so will not be elaborated here. It is
mentioned though, to acknowledge the close relationship between Kantian
autonomy and the subject of liberalism.
Drawing on the work of Stuart Hall, Marshall (1996a) identifies historic
tensions between progressive and conservative forces in the development of
liberalism – tensions which are played out in differing approaches to individualism
and rationality. A conservative strand, emanating from the theories of Locke and
Hayek, espouses tradition, voluntary association, and freedom from constraint; and
opposes the idea of liberating mankind through a system of rational design. A
second strand, in its focus on progress, follows the ideas of Rousseau and Hobbes.
It favours strong government for social reform, a restrictive notion of freedom as
promoting opportunity through social control, and an emphasis on welfare rather
than property rights. The second strand, in its commitment to the social
development of individuals, often develops into large order rational systems, such
as socialism or collectivism, and is sometimes referred to as ‘revisionist’
liberalism. The two strands correspond with Berlin’s (1969) differentiation
37 Gaus & Courtland (2003) argue that Rousseau, Locke and Hobbes were able to operate under the
general rubric of liberalism, since their various social contracts insisted on justifying the grounds in
which individual liberty might be restricted.
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between ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ liberty, although both formulations are ultimately
justified in the interests of the individual as a rational being.
Gray (1986) supports the distinction between the two strands of liberalism, but
argues that rather than being separate philosophies, they represent separate
branches of a common lineage, with a shared commitment towards four elements
in the relation between man and society.
It is individualist, in that it asserts the moral primacy of the person against the
claims of any social collectivity; egalitarian, inasmuch as it confers on all
men the same moral status and denies the relevance to legal or political order
of differences in moral worth among human beings; universalist, affirming
the moral unity of the human species and according a secondary importance
to specific historic associations and cultural forms; and meliorist in its
affirmation of the corrigibility and improvability of all social institutions and
political arrangements. It is this conception of man and society which gives
liberalism a definite identity which transcends its vast internal variety and
complexity (Gray, 1986, p. x).
Richard Peters sees the Anglo-American ‘way of life’ as having emerged
gradually out of the ‘practices of our remote ancestors’: a way of life involving
“the determination to settle political matters by recourse to reasonable discussion
rather than by recourse to force or arbitrary fiat” (R. Peters, 1966, p. 299). He sees
the proper role of government not as an unfettered authority in promoting the
common good, but rather as a necessary expedient, subject to moral appraisal and
the safeguard of the rights of individuals and minorities. It could be that his years
of teaching in working class institutions and his service as a stretcher-bearer in
World War II brought about his desire to alleviate the effects of unwarranted
privilege and authority through rational argument and democratic process.
However, he does not make a collectivist appeal to the principles of socialism.
Rather, his version of democracy and the ethical position he proposes expresses a
firm commitment to individualism, although he is well aware that the individual is
grounded in the community of the present and in the social traditions of the past.
Although advocating democracy in principle and practice, Peters’ ethical
prescription fits easily with Gray’s four elements of liberalism – it is individualist,
egalitarian, universalist and meliorist. Peters’ articulation of liberal ethics
promotes the Kantian notion of respect for persons as an important ideal.
Nevertheless his primary emphasis on the rational individual paves the way for the
restrictive conception of the “autonomous chooser” (Peters & Marshall, 1996, p.
85) at the heart of the recent neoliberal reforms to Western economies, and the
consequent failure of historical society and community in terms of economic,
social, democratic and cultural deficit in what Kelsey (1995) calls ‘The New
Zealand Experiment’.
ETHICS AND EDUCATION – A LIBERAL TREATISE
For several decades, Richard Peters was the leading figure in the British school
of educational philosophy. His text Ethics & Education (1966) offered a coherent,
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well-argued position within the liberal tradition of education, although his
philosophy was by no means universally accepted (see, for example, Harris, 1979).
In Peters’ own words, the book was intended:
to serve as an introductory textbook in the philosophy of education in the
field of ethics and social philosophy; secondly it presents a distinctive point
of view both about education and about ethical theory. It is hoped, therefore,
that it will be of interest both to teachers and to students of philosophy (R.
Peters, 1966, p. 7).
Bringing together the dual traditions of liberalism and democracy, Peters
advocated a universal ethics for education that required on the one hand: individual
rationality, concern for truth and the giving of reasons; and on the other hand, a
concern for democratic process and respect for fraternity. The seemingly broad
focus, though, masks a narrow reliance on liberal reason as the basis of respect for
others38, yielding a truncated view of the self strongly reminiscent of the Kantian
formulation of morality. For Peters, liberalism is operationalised within the
theoretical construct of democracy, which, he claims, confers on every individual
the opportunity to be respected as the source of argument. However, the gap
between theory and practice suggests transcendental ideals may be an insufficient
basis as an ethical approach to education. Nevertheless, some aspects of his theory
are difficult to ignore in the field of ethics, particularly if ‘respect for persons’
provides for toleration, or possibly celebration, of difference.
Peters (1966, p. 45) stipulates three criteria for activities to be considered
educational. They are:
– that ‘education ‘implies the transmission of what is worth-while to those who
become committed to it;
– that ‘education’ must involve knowledge and understanding and some kind of
cognitive perspective, which are not inert; and
– that ‘education’ at least rules out some procedures of transmission, on the
grounds that they lack willingness and voluntariness on the part of the learner.
For Peters, education is involved with notions of ‘improvement’, ‘betterment’, and
the passing on of what is judged ‘worthwhile’. While it is important to clarify
meanings and specify usage of these terms, Peters acknowledges that their
respective values have no empirical referent, and so for justification of worth, he
turns to the sphere of moral philosophy or ethics, with its non-empirical concepts
such as ‘ought’, ‘right’, ‘desirable’, ‘worth-while’, and ‘good’; along with
distinctive procedures for inquiry. Ethics is the realm that, for Peters, provides the
rational basis for action and consequently the moral justification for educational
decisions.
In arriving at an ethical position, Peters considers a number of essential
elements, including the development of mind, the principle of equality,
consideration of interests, freedom, and respect for persons. Each of these factors
is not enough on its own, and what he advocates is a relation between all these
factors where each is tempered by all the others. So for example, a presumption of
38 For Peters, even emotions are decipherable in terms of their rational basis.
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NIETZSCHE, LIBERALISM AND EDUCATION
freedom does not give an individual the right to act in a way that fails to respect
others.
Central to Peters’ position is the need to justify one’s position; that is, to give
reasons for holding that position. If there are no reasons, he argues, it is mere
whim whether one action takes precedence over another, and completely arbitrary
whether one person’s wants are restricted in favour of another’s. Peters does not
want to privilege feelings as any criteria for ethics, since he believes that feelings
derive from a cognitive core, and that provided the reasoning is sound, the attitudes
that follow will be sustainable. If feelings indicate dissonance, the solution is
sought through an examination of the rational basis for those feelings. Significant
in this aspect of Peters’ theory is the elevation of the rational core above the
aesthetic response to life.
From the basis of reason, Peters derives other attitudes essential for an ethical
life; namely, an overall concern for truth, respect for persons, and a feeling of
fraternity for others. It is easy to see how his philosophical position depends on a
presumption of transcendental truth, as he argues:
Any reflective person who asks the question ‘Why do this rather than that?’
… must already have a serious concern for truth built into his consciousness.
For how can a serious practical question be asked unless a man also wants to
acquaint himself as well as he can with the situation out of which the
question arises and of the facts of various kinds which provide the framework
for possible answers? (R. Peters, 1966, p. 164).
The maintenance of the social order is important for Peters, as a means of
protecting both the security and the liberty necessary for the pursuit of what is
good, and as a means of preventing abuse and manipulation. Feelings of fraternity
and the belief that distinct points of view are important, lead him to the principle of
‘respect for persons’:
The feeling awakened when another is regarded as a distinctive centre of
consciousness… connected with the awareness one has that each man has his
own aspirations, his own viewpoint on the world; that each man takes pride
in his achievements, however idiosyncratic they may be. To respect a person
is to realise all this and to care (R. Peters, 1966, p. 28).
The principle of fairness or justice is, for Peters, a presupposition of any attempt
to justify conduct or to ask seriously the question ‘What ought I to do?’. Justice is
represented by the idea that no one is presumed, in advance of particular cases
being considered, to have a claim to better treatment than another. For Peters,
social justice is best preserved by the establishment of general rules and a large
measure of consensus at the level of procedural principles. An important
presumption here is the ideal of democratic consensus, and the desirability of
democratic institutions based on an “effective tradition of reasonableness and
tolerance” (R. Peters, 1966, p. 303). He admits to the difficulty of pinning down
an exact definition of democracy but suggests it requires some kind of procedure
for consulting citizens about state action and policy. Although aware of its
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frustrations, failings, and hypocrisies, he asserts that only a democratic form of life
is consistent with the fundamental principles of morality (R. Peters, 1966, p. 306).
Peters’ ‘fundamental principles’ of morality are fairness, liberty and the
consideration of interests, and he argues that their emotional underpinning in
respect for persons and a feeling of fraternity for others as persons is accessible
only to ‘rational men’. The primacy of the giving of reasons is evident in his
earlier work too. Benn and Peters (1959) explore the relationship between social
principles and the democratic state, and conclude that, while the ideal of
democracy involves such features as free choice, majority vote, impartiality,
sensitivity to all interests and the need for expression of alternative opinion, it is
the giving of reasons that elevates democracy as a moral system. Respect for
persons stems, they argue, from their status as sources of claims and arguments that
underlie political ideals like justice, liberty and equality.
Important educational implications of Peters’ ideas stem from his notion of
democratic government that requires people with relevant experience, an ability to
apply abstract principles, and a willingness to participate in public life. An ethical
basis for education must then in Peters’ view, include such interpretations as: the
democratisation of education by insisting that education should be freely available
and fairly distributed; school as a democratic institution so that the practices of
schooling embody the principles of democratic process; and education as
preparation for a democratic way of life, so that students learn the attitudes, values
and practices required for participating in a democratic society.
Because the giving of reasons is offered as the basis for differentiating ethics
from naturalism, superstition and religious belief, Peters’ position constitutes an
emphasis on the rational individual in education. In this respect, Marshall (1996a)
notes the similarities between the Anglo-American traditional strand of liberalism,
and the promotion of a neoliberal philosophy based on the unimpeded freedom of
the individual. However, he argues that it would be a mistake to interpret Peters as
a neoliberal, since he emphasises the Kantian principles of consideration for the
interests of others and respect for persons. Peters’ emphasis on democracy as a
procedural principle thus softens his perspective inside liberal individualism.
Given Peters’ incorporation of both traditional and democratic aspects of
liberalism, a focus on his philosophy is also a focus on liberalism generally, not
only in its basic assumptions but also in how it unfolds in practice. Liberalism
requires some form of constraint upon individual freedom if anarchy is to be
avoided. Those constraints may be external, as in police enforcement of the law or
the imposition of Rousseau’s notion of the General Will. They may also be
internal, as in the Kantian notion of moral duty stemming from the rational nature
of the autonomous self. It is worth noting that educational policy in the Western
world is increasingly underpinned by liberal and neo-liberal assumptions about the
rational individual. The prime importance Peters attaches to the giving of reasons
is a cornerstone of liberal education and foundational to his claim that education is
an ethical enterprise. However, it will be argued here that the giving of reasons is
insufficient ethical foundation for a defensible education. Rather, the interplay of
freedom and constraint in the realm of the social world calls for new and inclusive
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ethical formulations that emanate from a sphere more encompassing than
liberalism.
Although he appeals to ‘fundamental principles of morality’ along with more
conservative liberals like Kenneth Strike (1982), Peters advocates a democratic
approach to education and to ethics in ‘a tradition of reasonableness and tolerance’.
However, democracy is fraught with conceptual and procedural difficulties, and
even a democratic approach to liberalism requires a particular view of human
identity that is at odds with Peters’ own ethical foundations.
Peters’ ethical position is summarised here as bounded by liberal discourse. His
main points have been delineated (without too much criticism at this stage) in such
a way that the reader can assess whether the following critique is based on any
misinterpretation of what Peters has to say. What follows shortly is a different
interpretation of the territory described by Peters – a Nietzschean critique of the
liberal morality underpinning Peters’ philosophy, and the practices that arise from
it. The particular aspects of Peters’ theory that bear further examination in terms of
their ethics are the metaphysical notion of truth, the universal assumptions behind
social justice, the problematic application of democratic principles to political
practice, and the commitment to reason as the ultimate value.
Peters describes philosophy as an essentially co-operative enterprise, and
suggests that, “Advances are made when two or three are gathered together who
speak more or less the same language and can meet frequently for the purpose of
hitting each other politely on the head” (R. Peters, 1966, p. 8). This chapter offers
Peters a ‘polite smack’, which is not so much a dialectical challenge to the internal
rationality of his argument as a different description of what it is to be ethical. This
move is one that Rorty (1989) would support. He proposes that ‘speaking more or
less the same language’ will result in ‘more or less the same ideas’, with
intellectual progress as merely the literalisation of selected metaphors. What he
advocates is a redescription of the territory, since the vocabulary of Enlightenment
rationalism is an impediment to new ways of thinking. In line with Rorty’s idea of
a replacement vocabulary, it is now appropriate to introduce some Nietzschean
perspective to the debate, to prevent hardening of the categories and ossification of
the discourse.
A NIETZSCHEAN PERSPECTIVE
A multi-dimensional perspective may be more appropriate than universal morality
in determining an ethical basis for educational direction. An exploration of
difference as a feature of identity provides the background for such a view, and
leaves Peters’ ethics both inadequate as a totalising rationality and wanting in its
own judgment. Nietzschean perspectivism and genealogy offer a vigorous
challenge to fundamental rational morality as the only and inevitable basis for
ethical theory. In the spirit of agonism, Nietzschean critique acknowledges, and to
some extent accepts, Peters’ claims for rationality, but insists that to be human is to
be more than rational. What is proposed for educators is an ethic that respects
difference and minimises rigid insistence on transcendental norms. ‘Otherness’
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and ‘identity’ are mutually interwoven, whereas the idealisation of the rational self
creates and excludes the ‘other’.
As a basis for critique of the liberal philosophy of education, I intend to draw
upon some of Nietzsche’s ideas, not as a straightforward explanation of
Nietzsche’s educational thinking, but as a selective application of three major
themes recurrent in much of his writing. This is in keeping with Nietzsche’s
disdain for rigid discipleship, and his exhortation to go beyond his ideas: “One
repays a teacher badly if one always remains nothing but a pupil.... You revere me;
but what if your reverence tumbles one day? Beware lest a statue slay you” (Z I,
On the Gift-Giving Virtue §3).
Although it is a creative and unverifiable exercise to imagine how Nietzsche
might respond to the arguments offered by Peters, there are enough parallels in his
work to suggest that the interpretation offered here is in line with much of
Nietzsche’s philosophical outlook on life. Although Nietzsche admires Kant as a
profound thinker and acknowledged the huge shadow he cast over ensuing
philosophy, Nietzsche rejected the world of transcendental ideals as the moral
guide for life, and saw possibilities for man far beyond the autonomous rational
self constituted by Kantian reason. In many respects, the critique offered here
constitutes a similar rejection of transcendental ideals and a suspicion about the
ethics of an exclusive focus on the rational component of the self. Consequently,
what follows provides a Nietzschean flavour to an exploration of what would count
as ethics in education, without ossifying his ideas and being slain by the tumbling
statue of Nietzsche.
At this stage it is sufficient to identify these themes in a general fashion, partly
to acknowledge the scope of Nietzsche’s thought, but also to see in relief how the
interplay of these themes provides new possibilities for philosophers of education
not only to engage in democratic process, but also to problematise the politics
involved in the definition of democracy and in the application of democratic
principles to the liberal practices of education.
Nietzsche’s Perspectivism
As the first of these themes, what has come to be known as ‘perspectivism’ is often
used to describe Nietzsche’s refusal to accept political rhetoric as metaphysical
truth. He refers to truth as ‘illusion’ and ‘error’, or more expansively as:
A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms: in
short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically
intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to
a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we
have forgotten are illusions; they are metaphors that have become worn out
and have been drained of sensuous force (TL §1).
His scepticism is about all truth brought to light by man, as he argues that since
man constructs truth through the use of reason, any truth found within the realm of
reason is of limited value:
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When someone hides something behind a bush and looks for it again in the
same place and finds it there as well, there is not much to praise in such
seeking and finding. Yet this is how matters stand regarding seeking and
finding “truth” within the realm of reason ... (TL §1).
Nietzsche does not, however, want to do away with truth altogether. Instead, his
early unpublished notebooks offer a radically different account. Written in 1873,
his essay On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense offers as the criterion for truth
the degree to which a particular description enhances human life, and the degree to
which it promotes culture by transforming social life. The earlier cultures that
Nietzsche admires (e.g., the Greeks) were not constrained by reason, and Nietzsche
draws on them to embrace the Dionysian spirit of unconscious desire and its
Apollonian transformation through illusion. This accounts for the high cultural
value Nietzsche places on art and myth, as opposed to the modern world’s
emphasis on reason, where art and myth are peripheral, and in terms of rational
truth – merely illusion and error. In Nietzsche’s life-enhancing model, there is still
room for the conventional categories of truth and falsity, in that he acknowledges
conventional designations as essential for some form of social life. However, there
is no recourse to an ideal world to assess accuracy of representation; rather that
recourse is to the natural world, the world of culture, and the world of everyday
social practices. In this way, truths (and the attempts to categorise them as ‘errors’
and ‘illusions’) function as life-preserving fictions. The move to a nonmoral sense
means that there is no need to appeal to a transcendental world to ascertain truth
value.
Turning his back on the idea of truth as a mirror of reality, Nietzsche draws on
his background in philology to come up with an alternative epistemology – truth as
‘metaphor’, a word derived from the Greek verb meaning ‘to carry over’, ‘to carry
across’, or ‘to transfer’. Since, in a Kantian sense, subject and object are
independent of each other, cognition in itself has no contact with the world. In
other words, truth cannot be a mirror of reality; a concept is mere abstraction – a
“condensate of multiple metaphors and metonymies” (Kofman, 1993, p. 40) and
“not derived from the essence of things” (TL §1). Therefore, the idea of
transference of meaning between subject and object is better explained by
metaphor formation than by the exact replica implied in the mirroring model.
Truth as metaphor, then, suggests the making of meaning from one’s existential
predicament rather than from recognition of some ‘facts’ about the world.
This distinction between the metaphysical idea of ‘truth in itself’ and the
political utility of various empirical claims to truth39, is often deconstructed and
signalled by Nietzsche with the use of scare quotes to signify dubious claims to
truth. A perspectival approach problematises these claims, interpreting truth as
metaphor, as perspective, tentative in its claims, and providing at best a ‘basis’ for
debate. Perspectivism then, directly challenges the truth behind a universal
39 Foucault’s (1980) concept of ‘power/knowledge’ can be interpreted as a derivative of Nietzsche’s
early thought about the ungrounded and personal nature of ‘truth’, and his later concept of will to
power as an attempt to gain mastery of one’s circumstances.
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morality; it renders inaccessible a meta-perspective on truth; and questions
fundamentalist approaches (e.g., the giving of reasons) as the only basis for ethics.
In spite of Peters’ appeal to universal values as the basis of his ethical position,
the relationship between education and perspectivism is not lost on him. In an
appendix added after his Ethics & Education was written, he includes a section
subtitled Informal Education, that acknowledges the importance of being able to
see the world from the perspective of another. In contrast to his promotion of
education as initiation, Peters sees the ability to listen to what another says
(regardless of the use which can be made of it or him) as “one of the main
hallmarks of an educated man” (1966, p. 88). He sees educational value in the
process of ‘active participation’ in ‘shared conversation’ to construct a ‘common
world’ to which all bring their distinctive contributions. Participating in such a
shared experience is, for Peters, “to see the world from the perspective of another”
(R. Peters, 1966, p. 88).
There is no suggestion here that Peters is offering a Nietzschean interpretation
of life as an infinite diversity of interpretations with no claims to ‘truth’. He is
more likely advocating different vantage points on a singular world. Yet, he still
acknowledges difference as implicated in the realm of educational ethics.
Although he categorises these comments as referring to informal education, the
practical distinction between ‘formal’ and ‘informal’ may have more to do with the
politics of schooling than with an estimation of ethical value. Nietzsche’s (FEI)
early lectures on education refer to the label ‘formal education’ as “a crude kind of
unphilosophical phraseology” which has more to do with how institutions justify
their existence than with a meaningless dichotomy between ‘formal’ and ‘informal’
education. For the purposes of this chapter, the fact that Peters has categorised the
acceptance of difference as belonging to an ‘informal’ category of education does
not detract from the educational value he ascribes to it. Its value as a shared
practice is to some extent in keeping with Nietzsche’s notion of truth as
instrumental to the social world.
Nietzsche’s Aesthetic
The second of Nietzsche’s ideas used in this chapter is his concern with life, health
and sickness. Contrary to the earlier Newtonian metaphor of life as machine,
Nietzsche’s inquiry is often conducted at the biological level of humanity, with
human life as an organism comparable to plant and animal life. From that
perspective, rationality is an overlay and morality is a negation of life energy. For
Nietzsche, Christian morality imbues life with evil, guilt and the need for
teleological justification, while the rational ethics of Kant supplants obedience to a
deity with the acceptance of duty based on transcendental reason. Instead,
Nietzsche values life as an aesthetic phenomenon above science, morality and
truth; with no need for transcendental justification:
Behind your thoughts and feeling, my brother, there stands a mighty ruler, an
unknown sage – whose name is self. In your body he dwells; he is your body
(Z I, On the Despisers of the Body §4).
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In tracing the development of Kant’s ideas from the ideal worlds of Platonism
and Christianity, he unravels Kant’s logic (TI, How the Real World at last Became
a Myth ). Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason posits the ‘real’ world as unknowable,
and therefore, according to Nietzsche, unavailable as a source of moral duty. But
as he notes, a rejection of the ‘real’ world (world-in-itself) also means a rejection
of its derivative – the apparent world. Kantian epistemology then holds little truth
value for Nietzsche, in that it removes the source of ethical direction to a nonexistent
realm and prevents the sort of responsibility for one’s own life that
characterises Nietzschean ethics. Thus, for Nietzsche, it is a moral system based
on a fable.
Nietzsche’s ‘brand’ of ethics can be seen as an aesthetics of life, an idea drawn
from his picture of the early Greeks, and elaborated a century later by Foucault
(1986) as an ethic of care, particularly care of the self. Any ethic that incorporates
care for others must, for Nietzsche, flow not from an orderly set of reasons, but
from an abundance of care for one’s self and the joy of living: “When your heart
flows broad and full like a river, a blessing and a danger to those living near: there
is the origin of your virtue” (Z I, On the Gift-Giving Virtue §1).
Nietzschean Genealogy
Genealogy, another of Nietzsche’s tools important in this critique, is linked to the
previous two by its methodology. Genealogy problematises accepted patterns of
belief and refuses to take for granted the ‘tired metaphors’ that have come to be
known as truth. In that sense, it is perspectival. At the same time, genealogy
grounds the critique of knowledge in the lived history of self-constituting human
actors and thus affirms life as an aesthetic phenomenon.
In his second Untimely Meditation, Nietzsche (UM II) outlines three ‘species of
history’: as monumental, as antiquarian, and as critical; corresponding
respectively to man as a being who acts and strives, as a being who preserves and
reveres, and as a being who suffers and seeks deliverance. For Nietzsche, neither
of the first two modes are sufficient to allow man to operate as a creative being
who at the same time is grounded in his past. The third mode, critical history,
worked out in his genealogical method, involves a process of investigation and reinterpretation;
it explains why specific illusions and ideals have existed historically
and how those ideas determine the possibilities for individual action; and it opens
up further possibilities for self-definition. According to Warren (1988), genealogy
thus provides a means of dealing with a growing sense of nihilism as our cultural
practices lose their meaning: It is an attempt to give oneself, as it were a posteriori
a past in which one would like to originate in opposition to that in which one did
originate (UM II §3).
This is not Nietzsche claiming that the actual events of the past can happen
again in a different way. Rather, it is an acknowledgement that the meaning of past
events is not locked into history, but constituted according to our current
conceptions of meaning. Meaning and value therefore are not metaphysical; nor
are they factual, genetic, or teleological:
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there can be no historical transmission of meaning in itself, only the
transmission of the cultural signs, symbols, and languages as well as the
material resources that are means to practices. Meaning is the product of a
continuously active integration of historical resources into configurations of
power as subjectivity” (Warren, 1988, p. 100).
It is this renewable sense of history that constitutes the creative aspect of
Nietzschean genealogy and allows for the reconstruction of identity and the
appearance of new truths.
Warren (1988) identifies in genealogical method three distinct, but
interdependent, modes of criticism, each of which problematises particular
constructions of cultural meaning: first, the logical criticism that focuses on the
internal consistency of a system of ideas; second, genetic criticism, that traces the
lineage (Herkunft) of a particular cultural entity; and third, functional criticism that
accounts for the changing meanings of cultural entities in terms of their context of
emergence (Entstehung) or their function within a historically specific form of life.
It is a combination of these aspects that characterises genealogical investigations
into what counts as religion, morality, history and truth, often by offering
alternative explanations and possibilities that contradict the beliefs and values that
are taken as given, as factual, as beyond all question.
Working from the present, genealogy can unravel a variety of competing
histories and thus suggest various possible interpretations of the present and the
future, without searching for ultimate truth. Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of
Morals, for example, is an interrogation of Christian values, arising as “a new
knowledge of the conditions and circumstances in which they grew, under which
they evolved and changed .... a knowledge of a kind that has never yet existed or
even been desired” (GM preface §6). It might be added: ‘or will ever be accepted’,
considering that his genealogy exposes justice as evolving from an economic
model of debt based on guilt, and his portrayal of morality as being developed
through the intentional use of torture, sacrifices and mutilation.
An understanding of Nietzschean genealogy is of vital importance in coming to
terms with the corrosive nature of his philosophy. Genealogy does not lay any
claim to universal truth in its reworking of history, but at the same times avoids the
arbitrariness of ‘any story will do’ because it grounds the critique of knowledge in
the lived history of self-constituting human actors. The multiple possibilities for
self-creation leaves behind the Hegelian idea of the world evolving rationally
towards the harmony of the absolute. In that sense it affirms life as an aesthetic
phenomenon.
The idea of genealogy then, offers competing explanations for what we take as
current reality, defines ‘truth’ as a political contest, and provides a vigorous
challenge to fundamental rational morality as the only and inevitable basis for
ethical theory. What follows then, is a genealogical examination of the philosophy
of education articulated by Richard Peters, involving a challenge to universal truth
and morality based on transcendental reason, and a claim that codes of morality
that disregard ‘other-ness’ are not ethical. It thus establishes the rationale which
underpins Connolly’s (1991) exploration of identity and difference, not as essences
of humanity, but as ‘contingency’, ‘contestability’ and ‘intertextuality’.
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AN ETHICS OF DIFFERENCE
Connolly’s (1991) notion of identity is not a descriptive label that can be applied to
a static or already existing self entity. Identity formation is a dynamic political
process that rests on social definitions of difference, with the resulting identity not
as an inherent truth about one’s being, but a self-reinforcing ‘circle of
significations’. The contingent and relational nature of the process is emphasised
by Connolly as he sees identity:
constantly exceeded, subverted, obstructed, and confounded both by actors
who resist roles for which they have been cast and by audiences imperfectly
colonised by the circle of significations within which the prevailing politics
of identity moves (Connolly, 1991, p. 210).
Social life then is ambiguous, and political ‘reality’ can be challenged as
‘conventional categories of insistence’. Connolly draws upon Nietzschean
genealogy to interrogate exclusions built into the idea of entrenched identities, to
problematise and politicise the forms they have taken, and to ‘salute’ uncertainty
and ambiguity.
There is a superficial resemblance between Peters and Connolly in their
formulation of ethical principles, insofar as both could be construed as advocating
the idea of ethics as the arbiter of individual behaviour within an acceptable social
life. However, unlike Peters, whose idea of ethics ultimately hinges on the rational
individual, Connolly’s ethics is pragmatic and social, as he introduces the notion of
‘agonistic democracy’, a political relationship in which each participant welcomes
the ‘otherness’ of difference.
As an ethical strategy, agonism maintains a spirit of competition and adversarial
respect, so that instead of overriding different points of view, closing down
opposition, or enforcing community, contest is welcomed. So rather than needing
to eradicate fundamental ethical systems, agonism advances itself as another
political contestant in the ongoing discursive game, while at the same time
problematising the nature of that game. In other words, agonism is not only the
form of a proposed ethics, it is also the process through which such a form might
be developed. In some respects, this may be what Peters has in mind in his
advocacy of democratic principles. Yet the imperative of Peters’ rational
categories precludes the open and ongoing negotiation inherent in the agonistic
structure.
Within the ethics laid out above, education can be interpreted as a political
relationship, in which agonistic contest may develop, and in which contending
identities and ‘otherness’ are nurtured. It recognises the social process in the
formation of ‘self’, and in so doing, aspires to the Nietzschean project of historical
culture as a focus for education.
With an appreciation of Nietzsche’s perspectivism, the problematic generated by
genealogy, the democratic diversity of agonistic contest and an ethic based on an
aesthetic care for life, Peters’ rational system of ethics now begins to look
bounded, and in places rather dubious in its own terms, especially in regard to his
emphasis on the importance of respect for persons. Peters’ philosophy of
education, with its respect for ‘rational men’, establishes rationality as a normative
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criterion, but in so doing, it minimises (if not excludes) much of what is valuable in
the social world. Creativity, eccentricity, warmth, empathy and humour are not
seen as contributing to a person’s worth. Establishing abnormal categories has a
compounding effect: the formation of idealised norms not only generates
abnormalities such as irrationality, irresponsibility, immorality, delinquency and
perversity, but the abnormal are also excluded from contesting the nature of the
categories.
Underpinning Peters’ ethics is a depoliticised acceptance of the giving of
reasons. In other words, reason governs not only those deemed to be living an
ethical life, but also those committed to developing an educational philosophy.
Rational argument is the only recognised mode of contest in the philosophy of
liberal academia, since only the ‘normal’ are admitted to the debating chamber,
with the most authority accorded to those who are established within traditional
disciplines. Political challenge, a querying of an exclusively rational order, or a
genealogical investigation of the prevailing moral authority, is characterised as
postmodern or nihilistic from within the discourse, and the lines of demarcation
between ‘the rational’ and ‘the other’ are reinforced. The formation and separation
of otherness is divisive in its tactic, not only at the political level of group and
social formation, but also within psychoanalytic formulations of the self, with some
elements selectively repressed or excluded, on no other ultimate basis than their fit
with a Platonic ideal of rational order. This does not fit well with the rhetoric of
liberalism, which purports to embrace differing points of view with a positive
attitude towards tolerance and diversity.
While Peters cannot be said to be logically wrong in his argument for a rational
approach to ethics, (for how could he be wrong when ‘truth’ was hidden behind the
‘bush’ of reason?); it is argued here that ‘otherness’ and ‘identity’ are mutually
interwoven, and that the idealisation of the rational self creates and excludes the
‘other’. Considering the importance Peters attaches to ‘social justice’ as the
‘rockbottom’ foundation of ethics, such exclusion could only be justified by
ignoring the selective nature of a politics of normalisation and the contingent
creation of categories of mental disorders, social misfits and political scapegoats.
If these categories are in themselves not violent enough in their objectification
of human beings and their exclusion of vast tracts of humanity, their use in the
distribution of social capital contravenes Peters’ own idea of social justice, with a
person’s worth being morally judged according to standards of supposedly
‘objective’ rationality. Ignoring the political forces at work in the production of
subjectivity constitutes social injustice, not only in the selective distribution of the
benefits of society, but also in excluding all those aspects of the self that are not
subject to reason; including the elements of desire and illusion that Nietzsche sees
as part of being human and essential to a non-nihilistic culture.
The genealogical critique of the notion of depoliticised individuality (i.e., the
Kantian subject) creates new possibilities that undermine the certainty of liberal
individualism. This process also creates problems for Peters’ theory in terms of his
‘concern for truth’, because, if there are new and unexamined possibilities, or if we
entertain Foucault’s idea of ‘numberless beginnings’, then the closure of Peters’
deductive logic is suspect. His ‘truth’ begins to resemble Nietzsche’s
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‘metaphorical illusion’, or even worse, as Harris (1979, p. 129) argues, the
intentional promotion of ignorance in the preservation of particular interests.
While Harris’ Marxist analysis is also problematic in its privileged access to the
‘reality’ underneath ideological distortions, it is valuable in emphasising the
political nature of education in establishing social identity, and in suggesting that
the prevailing order might not define a neutral political space.
Peters’ position holds that it is reason that distinguishes moral action from
private likes and whims. In the style of agonistic debate, it is not intended to
discount Peters’ position completely, or to deny the benefits of reason in whole
realms of enlightenment activity or its instrumental benefits in a modern world.
However, it is argued here that ethics needs to stem from more than just the
rational tradition, for it is hard to imagine a rational approach generating an ethical
attitude if there is not already a generous sense of abundance in the self: “When
your heart flows broad and full like a river, a blessing and a danger to those living
near: there is the origin of your virtues” (Z I, On the Gift-Giving Virtue §1).
ETHICS AND DEMOCRACY
Bearing in mind the later chapter on democracy and education, the discussion of
democracy in this current chapter will be brief, with criticism limited to the way in
which Peters argues that his liberal theory should be put into practice. It is not
intended as a full investigation of ethics and democracy or as an acknowledgement
of those points with which the current author agrees. Rather, it is intended to
highlight some of the shortcomings in a liberal democratic basis for a universal
system of ethics.
The preface to Richard Peters earlier work with Stanley Benn (1959) has both
authors taking full responsibility for what they see as the theme of the book: – the
close relationship between what is implied in ‘being reasonable’ and the principles
and institutions of the democratic state. So it is assumed that these ideas can be
taken as a strong influence on his later text Ethics and Education. Their
justification for democracy as a system draws upon the theory of natural rights,
stemming from the individualism of the seventeenth century (and in particular John
Locke), which, they say,
recognised the moral principle that every person must be respected as a
source of claims, and must not be treated as a mere instrument; and further,
that all interests must be weighed impartially (Benn & Peters, 1959, p. 350).
On the surface, their prescription appears in keeping with the direction of this
book, although, in practice, what they argue for does not live up to the promise.
They vigorously defend their theoretical construct with a number of prescriptions
for democratic processes; for example, democratic leaders are bound to give
reasons for their decisions if they want to maintain voter confidence; politicians
must listen to their constituents and attend to a great variety of sectional claims;
electors need full information about possible alternatives; channels of publicity
must not be monopolised by any particular interest or party, dangers of persuasion
by organised propaganda must be minimised.
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In spite of their optimistic theory, their analysis acknowledges some of the
difficulties inherent in the practices of democratic government. They acknowledge
that the concept of a ‘unified will’ is utopian in that conflicts will always exist, but
they see democracy as the best way to deal with the inevitable conflicting claims.
They see the majority principle as important in a democracy mainly as a way of
ensuring sensitivity to the widest possible range of interests. It is this sensitivity,
they say, which distinguishes democracies from ‘plebiscitary dictatorships’.
Peters (1966) suggests that democracy attends to the ‘fundamental principles of
morality’: fairness, liberty and the consideration of interests. The age-old problem
of liberty is not resolved by such a suggestion however, as it is still problematic
how much freedom the individual can have in a system that is aiming for
consensus decisions. In practice, democracy allows some voices to be heard, as
long as they fit within accepted parameters. Even though no one person is fully
represented by a majority, majority democracy is still posited as the best system.
Peters concedes, however, that democracy is impracticable because of its
extraordinary demands on ordinary citizens (R. Peters, 1966, p. 304).
In modern parliamentary democracy, it is not always the party with the majority
of the vote (or even the largest share) that assumes power, and in the case of
coalition governments, the balance of power is often held by a very small minority.
A democratic system of government, therefore, may conduct its business or make
decisions in ways that disadvantage the majority of voters. In addition, it negates
those who refuse to vote on an issue, those with insufficient information to take
part, those who object to the authority under which the vote is held, and in Peters’
own admission, the 80 per cent who don’t know what to make of it all.
Many of Benn & Peters’ prescriptions for democratic government are missing in
the age of televised politicianship. Politicians, under the guidance of public
relations consultants, spend more time making an impact than listening to
constituents, press conferences are timed for maximum publicity, journalists and
reporters are governed by commercial presentation, and information is likely to be
delivered as commercial sound bites compatible with advertising schedules.
Rather than Peters’ ‘well-informed constituent expressing a rational opinion’,
today’s voter is more likely to be a well-massaged consumer of television images.
Politicians often use the aggregate term ‘the public’ to prescribe how individuals
should think about an issue. The ‘public’ is certainly not a self-constituting group,
but represents the category of ‘otherness’ in political decision-making, those about
whom the decisions are made in the interests of ‘communal harmony’. The
agonistic position allows for and even promotes the existence of active minorities
who can ensure that competing points of view are recognised, and that any
harmony that arises, does so from a space where separate voices are protected.
As a theoretical ideal, democracy provides for gradual incremental change,
preserving the prevailing order and removing the need for messy revolutions or
authoritarian decree. Liberal democracy then, like its attendant rationality, is
attractive as an ideal, but to believe that the ideal is achievable, ignores Peters’ own
admission about the ‘frustrations’, ‘failings’ and ‘hypocrisies’ of such an ideal in
practice. News media constantly present violent images of ‘peace-making’ and
‘truce-monitoring’ troops destroying whole countries and killing people in the
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interests of liberation, world peace, security and democratic freedom, while their
governments benefit economically from providing post-war aid to those same
nations. National identities are formed by constructing and denigrating otherness,
through such terminology as ‘insurgent dissidents’, ‘communist infiltration’ and
‘fascist regimes’. The language of our liberal society has not yet adopted such
phrases as ‘creeping democracy’, ‘capitalist rebels’ or ‘liberal guerrillas’, or
learned to examine the ideals of liberalism or democracy from alternative
perspectives. Everyday ‘common sense’ assumes the status of truth, especially our
metaphysical notions of the self, the transcendental nature of truth, and the capacity
of language to give accurate descriptions of reality. A genealogical approach, by
adopting a different political and historical perspective, problematises the ethics of
many practices in our systems of democracy, and thereby undermines the certainty
of Peters’ prescription for democracy as the ethical basis for education.
In highlighting the importance of discussion, Benn & Peters acknowledge that
discussion presupposes a consensus on fundamentals, for where this is lacking,
they say, men will treat one another as scoundrels, and differences of opinion will
be undiscussable:
Where men start from different assumptions, there are no adjustments and no
compromises generally felt to be fair and reasonable. In such conditions
politics is a cynical grasping for whatever advantages temporary power
combinations can secure. .... without appropriate attitudes, and the will to
conduct politics in a rational and tolerant spirit, democratic institutions work
undemocratically (Benn & Peters, 1959, p. 353).
If it has done nothing else, this chapter has surely suggested that different
assumptions are not only inevitable, they are to be welcomed as part of formulating
a system of ethics – particularly one that might be considered an ‘ethics of
difference’. The presumption of consensus within a liberal democratic formulation
suggests, at base, a fundamentalism that prescribes the limits of what can be said,
denigrating the possibility of agonism and precluding anything but cosmetic
differences. In Rorty’s terms, the result is the literalisation of prevailing metaphors
and an impediment to new ways of thinking – anathema for education.
An ethics based on agonism favours a non-closure on identity, an acceptance of
differing conceptual schemes, and a softening of the criteria for what would count
as a point of view. Peters’ ethical basis for education is welcomed as one such
point of view, but is resisted in its entirety because it searches for an idealised
version of the truth. If Peters were to achieve the closure inherent in the universal
ethic that he seeks, his work would fall prey to its own moral judgments, based on
its exclusivity, its rigid prescription for a particular identity, and its insistence on a
transcendental rationality as the true order for human life.
Any recommendation for an ethical formulation needs to be procedural rather
than substantive, inclusive rather than exclusive, and ongoing rather than finite.
Nietzschean perspectivism does not lay out a totalising plan for action, or even a
coherent philosophical framework for universal agreement. What is advocated
instead is an ongoing problematisation of the rational overlay on social life and a
continuous interrogation of the discursive practices that subjugate ‘otherness’. In
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calling for multiple points of view, the Nietzschean critique of dogmatism avoids
certainty in the ethical realm and may be “an important voice to heed in
constructing a politics that can challenge the panoply of emerging
fundamentalisms” (Schrift, 1995, p. 125).
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EDUCATION
NIETZSCHE AND POSTSTRUCTURALISM
Increasingly, philosophers of education are turning to ‘post’ discourses for
explanations of diversity. Within the postmodern condition, the artist and the
writer are not governed by pre-established rules or judged according to
predetermined categories. Rather, they are “working without rules in order to
formulate the rules of what will have been done” (Lyotard, 1984, p. 81). Lyotard
suggests it is not our business to supply ‘reality’, or to provide a totalising unity for
irreconcilable language games. The price for such a quest is too high, he warns:
The nineteenth and twentieth centuries have given us as much terror as we
can take. We have paid a high enough price for the nostalgia of the whole
and the one, for the reconciliation of the concept and the sensible, of the
transparent and the communicable experience (Lyotard, 1984, pp. 81-2).
Less favourably, Cooper (2003) laments the ‘contrived depthlessness’ of
postmodern works, in his claim that they “offer ‘no promise of a deeper intellectual
experience’, and are without any ambition to reveal ‘the true nature of a unified …
underlying reality’” (p. 209). He summarises three typical criticisms of the
postmodernist philosophical stance (although similar criticisms might apply to
post-structuralism): first, that it often parodies traditional philosophy – in its
oversight, for example, of Enlightenment thinkers’ acknowledgement of the
limitations of a priori reason; second, the weakness of many of its arguments, due
in most cases to a failure to heed elementary distinctions – for example, in
confusing the idea of ‘invented’ with ‘optional’ in relation to conventions and
social constraints; and third, its self-defeating character – in its denial of the
possibility of ‘truth’ (pp. 213-214). Cooper acknowledges (but does not agree
with) a more ‘moderate’ position, which might reject foundationalist accounts of
truth while still accepting the possibility of objective agreement on truth,
knowledge and moral norms. Without a firmer basis of reference, he argues, “the
whole enterprise of justification and reason-giving collapses” (p. 216). However, it
is argued here that such a heavy reliance on reason as the basis for criticism of
postmodern endeavours constitutes a search for firm ground and thus refuses the
‘play’ that characterises the ‘post-’ discourses, closing the door on the very
engagement that educational philosophy invites. At one level, such resistance is a
‘reasonable’ philosophical response, although it might also be interpreted as
institutional conservatism in defence of the Enlightenment norms that educational
institutions pride themselves on – ‘truth’, ‘objectivity’, and ‘progress’.
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Although the terms ‘postmodernism’ and ‘poststructuralism’ are sometimes
used interchangeably, they can be differentiated by their theoretical objects –
‘modernism’ and ‘structuralism’ respectively. Drawing on the work of Lyotard,
Peters & Wain (2003) characterise postmodernism as “a general cultural ethos
marked by an attitude of deep ‘suspiciousness towards metanarratives’” (p. 65) –
particularly those of emancipation and progress. Postmodernism is not represented
as a total break from modernism, but incorporating new presentations of the
modern. Poststructuralism, on the other hand, is represented as a ‘mode of
thinking’, a ‘style of philosophising’, and a ‘kind of writing’ related to
structuralism. It cannot be reduced to a set of shared assumptions, a method, a
theory, or even a school, but embodies different forms of critical practice with
many different but related strands.
Poststructural thought is seen to occupy a broad territory, including: a critique of
Renaissance humanist philosophy and its rational, autonomous subject; a view of
language and culture as linguistic and symbolic systems; a belief in hidden
structures that govern our behaviour; and a shared intellectual inheritance from
European formalism; the reintroduction of historical narrative; a challenge to
foundationalist science; the undermining of Western logocentrism and
metaphysics; a critical approach to the idea of technology; a problematising of
political identity in relation to modern liberal democracies; an engagement with
Foucault’s work on governmentality and state reason; an exploration of
philosophies of ‘difference’; a suspicion of transcendental arguments and
viewpoints; diagnoses of ‘power/knowledge’ (à la Foucault); and a focus on the
politics of globalisation and the ‘knowledge’ society (Peters & Wain, 2003).
Sarup (1993) points out a number of similarities between structuralism and poststructuralism
in the way they both function as critique: as a critique of the human
subject (differentiated from the ahistorical ‘individual’); as a critique of historicism
and its association with an overall pattern in history; as a critique of meaning that
calls into question the structural relationship between the signifier and the
signified; and as a critique of philosophy in its restricted focus on theory.
However, there are differentiating features as well. Poststructuralism tends to
regard truth as multiplicity, to exult in the play of diversity and difference, and to
engage in the continual process of reinterpretation of meaning. It is within
poststructuralism that Poster (1989) locates thinkers such as Baudrillard, Lacan,
Derrida, Lyotard, Deleuze and Foucault; thinkers, he suggests, who might reject
the designation as ‘poststructuralist’ but whose ‘provisional interpretive stances’
squarely face the limits of ‘totalising, universalist discourse’ and address the
“failures of the great ‘metanarratives’ of liberalism and Marxism.” (Poster, 1989, p.
28). Any reconstructive critique, Poster argues, must be accomplished on the
“difficult terrain of a Nietzschean view of the truth” (ibid.)
Nietzsche has been acknowledged as a turning point in “the entry into
postmodernity” (Habermas, 1987, p. 83), providing inspiration for Heidegger,
Bataille, Derrida and Foucault. These thinkers, along with Deleuze and Lyotard all
used Nietzsche to question the scientific and universalist basis for knowledge. The
French uptake of Nietzschean ideas is evident in such poststructuralist themes as
Derrida’s critique of binary thinking and his deconstruction of the taken for
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granted, Foucault’s ideas on subjectivity, Deleuze’s account of the productivity of
desire, Irigiray’s feminist tribute to Nietzsche, Cixous’s feminine libidinal
economy, and Kofman’s treatment of metaphor as a legacy of Nietzschean
perspectivism (Schrift, 1995).
Other themes to be considered in a poststructural analysis of Nietzschean
thought include the valorisation of an aesthetic approach to life, the notion of life
as play, and the image of the ‘self’ as merely theatrical masks. This chapter will
explore a few aspects of poststructuralist endeavour to show Nietzsche’s corrosive
effect on the basis of humanism and the Hegelian subject, and the significance of a
poststructural view of education. In keeping with a broad interpretation of the
‘post’ discourses as a Nietzschean critique of modernity, the chapter will focus on:
the critique of enlightenment reason as it applies to Hegel’s notion of progress; the
relation between power and truth in the maintenance of social order; the play of
difference as a critique of ‘grand narrative’; deconstruction of the ‘text’ and ‘the
author’ in favour of an interpretive paradigm; and the self as multiplicity and
creation. The deconstruction of singular meaning challenges educators to enter
critical and constructive dialogue with each other, to interpret ‘otherness’ as
tentative and to avoid the closure of final definitions.
CRITIQUE OF HEGELIAN REASON
Hegel amplified the importance of reason, suggesting that to “speak of ‘many’
philosophies is to regard them as necessary stages in the development of the one
philosophy, or of reason coming to consciousness of itself” (Hegel, 1985, p. 91).
He saw reason as the divine element in man, and reality to be understood as the
absolute, unfolding dialectically in a rational process of self-development. The
‘absolute’ can be thought of as a person-like entity in that it reasons and has
intentions and goals. For Hegel (1998), individuals are not genuine ‘subjects’ as
they have ‘no being in themselves’. One’s ‘essence’ lies in the universal rather
than in the individual, with a sense of ‘alienation’ arising from its perceived
individuation. For Hegel, the process of the absolute’s self-development is the
process of its moving ever closer to absolute knowing, towards a Zeitgeist or ‘spirit
of the age’ in which there is a general consciousness of the absolute as the only
genuine subject. The logic that governs Hegel’s Absolute Spirit is dialectic –
thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. This synthesis becomes a new thesis that
generates another antithesis, giving rise to a new synthesis, and the continual
process of intellectual and historical development. In that each synthesis was
considered of a higher order than its previous thesis, the dialectic provided a logic
of progress. Enlightenment, for Hegel, is the application of scientific reason in
discerning a rational pattern to all of nature, until – with realisation of the absolute
– “Spirit that knows itself as Spirit” (Hegel, 1998, p. 122), the end of history.40
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40 Hegel’s absolute idealism is still evident in Nietzsche’s early work – still under the considerable
influence of Schopenhauer – in which he offers ‘a metaphysical comfort’ in a brief respite from the
phenomena of ‘countless forms of existence’ and in the experience of ‘primordial being itself’:
happy, not as individuals but as “the one living being, with whose creative joy we are united” (BT
§17).
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Hegel held the State as the full and explicit expression of the Absolute,
necessitating a subjugated role for the Church. Young (2003) argues, however,
that despite the grand view of the Absolute, Hegel is primarily a Christian
theologian who seeks to naturalise theology, and to overcome the alienating
dualism of the Middle Ages with an integrated monistic account of reality. The
charge is that Hegel’s ‘spirit’ is really his account of God and therefore not able to
be contained within the human parameters of rationality. Attempts therefore to
limit it within the laws of Hegelian dialectic constitute “a kind of blasphemy … a
spiritual claustrophobia”, since such an entity is “ultimately accessible only to
poetic thinking” (Young, 2003, p. 77).
Munzel (2003) is at pains to point out that despite a number of apparent
similarities in the philosophical projects of Kant and Hegel – the appeal to Bildung,
the formation of mind and character, the notions of freedom, progress towards
maturity, and the union of nature and freedom – the differences in their respective
philosophies make all the difference for education, resulting in “two fundamentally
different pedagogical strategies” (p. 121), discernable in their approach to the
notions of ‘autonomy’ and ‘control’. Whereas Kant promotes an individual path to
autonomy as an educational goal, Hegel’s perspective advocates the progress and
self-actualisation of world spirit – to which the individual is subservient. Herein
lies further clarification of the difference between negative and positive
conceptions of liberty, since for Hegel there can be no individuated seeker of
freedom.
Nevertheless, the path to enlightenment lay in the process of educating reason.
Education denoted the methods by which a society hands down from one
generation to the next its knowledge, culture, and values, while at the same time
providing for expansion of knowledge and cultural progress from generation to
generation. For Kant, children were to be educated, not for the present, but for an
improved future “in a manner which is adapted to the idea of humanity and the
whole destiny of man” (Kant, 1960, p. 14). In Hegelian terms, education
presupposes a “state of imperfection from which the individual is to be raised to a
state of relative perfection ... the regulated process of maturing the whole being of
the individual” (Bryant, 1971, p. 77), with the emphasis on eventual wholism.
Despite differences between Kant and Hegel, the modernist notion of progress
underlying mankind’s destiny facilitates a developmentalist model of education,
commonly divided by teachers into a variety of domains: physical, mental,
emotional, moral and social.
Since Rousseau, the focus of education broadened from moral training through
formal routines and disciplines, to include methods that adapted to the ‘natural’
development of the child. In line with Rousseau’s preference for expression rather
than repression as an educational technology, ‘progressive’ educators have
attempted to balance the learner-centred curriculum with the traditions of the
liberal disciplines. Typical of this movement are Pestalozzi’s ideas of children
learning by discovery in an atmosphere of love (May, 1997), Froebel’s concept of
the kindergarten (Hultqvist, 2001) and Dewey’s pedagogic creed (Moss & Petrie,
2002).
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Although Nietzsche predated the use of the term ‘poststructural’, his work has
been a major influence on poststructural thought, especially in his attack on the
Hegelian dialectic. Deleuze sees no possible compromise between Hegel and
Nietzsche, and sees the whole of Nietzsche’s philosophy as “setting out to expose
all the mystifications that find a final refuge in the dialectic” (Deleuze, 1983, p.
195). Deleuze identifies three principal ideas that define the dialectic: first, the
idea of the power of the negative in opposition and contradiction; second, that
suffering and sadness have value; and third, that positivity is achieved by negating
the negative. The Hegelian subject can achieve positivity only in opposition to a
negative power or through negating the other. Nietzsche saw Kant and Hegel as
prisoners of a limited conceptual model, and saw the need for an affirmative
philosophy not bounded by negativity. He saw the ascetic process of subjecting
life to a negative gaze as the basis for both Christianity and slavery, favouring
instead affirmative concepts such as multiplicity, becoming and chance: “The
affirmation of multiplicity is the speculative proposition, just as the joy of diversity
is the practical proposition” (Deleuze, 1983, p. 197).
Poststructural critique challenges the Enlightenment claim to a universal
conception of human reason as the sole standard of rationality, because it
“allegedly underwrites all knowledge claims, irrespective of time and place, and
provides the ground for the unitary subject considered as the agent of historically
progressive change” (M. Peters, 1996, p. 2). Although rejecting the primacy of
reason in human affairs, Nietzsche does not do away with the concept altogether.
His unpublished notes suggest he saw reason as a “system of relations between
various passions and desires” (WP §387), its origins forgotten and its utility
representing the “expediency of a certain race and species” (WP §278). In
contradistinction to the Enlightenment thesis, his On the Genealogy of Morals
(GM) depicts reason as being arrived at through the training of memory and
conscience. He describes its historical development as involving the application of
punishments and torture such as stoning, impaling, ripping apart, boiling in oil,
cutting flesh from the chest, and also the practice of smearing the wrongdoer with
honey and leaving him in the blazing sun for the flies:
With the aid of such images and procedures, one finally remembers five or
six ‘I will not’s,’ in regard to which one had given one’s promise so as to
participate in the advantages of society – and it was indeed with the aid of
this kind of memory that one at last came ‘to reason’! (GM II §3).
Although the account is colourful, it is clear that Nietzsche saw political forces
at work in the development of reason, and a grand narrative built on a priori reason
as suspect. The systematic violence documented by Nietzsche contravenes the
individual dignity and freedom at the heart of liberal morality and cannot be
defended on moral grounds since it fails to show the respect for persons as ends in
themselves required of liberal morality. It also questions the lofty origins of
Hegel’s Absolute as reason itself.
Aside from the genealogical problem, Poster (1989) points out the logical
paradox involved in the idea of supremacy of reason, in that it postulates itself as
transcendent, thereby constituting the world as one of its objects while at the same
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time positioning reason as another object in the world41. While reason is the
subject of analysis, the same reason is not effective as its own analytical tool.
PERSPECTIVISM AND REGIMES OF TRUTH
In Nietzsche’s interrogation of the primacy of reason, philosophical claim to truth
is a manifestation of the will to power. His casting of ‘truth’ as ‘illusion’, as ‘error’
and as ‘worn-out metaphors’ (TL) might be interpreted at best as a view of truth as
naïve belief involving incomplete or mistaken evidence. However, there is
reference in his writing to the concept of “will to truth” (Z II, On Self-Overcoming)
– as a function of his will to power – the driving force in life. In this configuration,
‘will to truth’ suggests that the ‘error’ to which Nietzsche refers may not be simple
naivety. Rather, truth becomes a mechanism for gaining ascendancy, an
instrument of will to power, and a territory to be won in the playing out of the
passions.
In similar vein to Nietzsche’s early interrogation of ‘truth’ (TL), Foucault points
out the economic and political role occupied by a ‘regime of truth’. ‘Truth’ is
portrayed as “a system of ordered procedures for the production, regulation,
distribution, circulation and operation of statements” (Foucault, 1980, p. 133).
Technologies for the governance of people depend on the ability to define what
constitutes truth and thus to shape how we become subjects with a certain view of
ourselves. It is in ‘disciplinary blocks’ (e.g., schools, prisons, hospitals) that
‘power/knowledge’ was developed and comes into existence “according to
knowledge which itself has been the product of power” (Marshall, 1996c, p. 115).
Within institutions, spatial confinement, restrictive timetables, examinations,
classifications, promotions and remedial treatments all serve to establish what
would constitute normal behaviour. Statistical forms of knowledge then become
the new ‘truth’. Rethinking the human sciences shows how the new regime of
truth is institutionalised into our current conception of education. According to
Marshall (op. cit.), medicine, law, psychiatry and education penetrate and inform,
in the new technologies of self. The outcome of the human sciences is not freedom,
but control. The private realm of personal desires are regulated not by the use of
the coercive powers of the State, but by the force of public opinion, and by the
pressures of civil society and personal conscience. Through psychotherapy, the
individual became the subject and the object of its own domination, although
ethical modes of self-conduct were encouraged by discipline in the factory, and by
surveillance in public places. Although Rose (1991) sees self-regulation as having
become the norm, he cites studies carried out in tribal societies where no idea of a
unified ‘self’ existed. Persons were not individuated in terms of a unique identity
but were acknowledged according to their status and duties within a clan.
Individuated personhood was not an inherent feature of humanity.
It is argued then that the individual is not an expression of innate truth and
goodness, but rather the subject of power relationships, established and nurtured
41 Foucault (1974) expresses this as his empirico-transcendental doublet: “…he is a being such that
knowledge will be attained in him of what renders all knowledge possible” (p. 318).
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within the cocoon of a supposedly ‘free’ society. The human senses, far from
being windows to the truth via empirical data, are learned and practised within a
regime of ‘domination’ legitimised by modern science – a discourse championed
by Habermas as “governed by ideals of an objectivity and impartiality secured
through unrestricted discussion” (Habermas, 1989, p. 91). However, Poster takes
issue with the sham ‘neutrality’ of such ‘unrestricted discussion’:
Modern science instantiates the figure of the rational individual; it constitutes
the subject of its discourse in a thoroughly Cartesian manner that discounts
the value of rhetoric, fiction, and art and invalidates the voices of culturally
determined subjects, such as women, who somehow do not have the
‘communicative competence’ to engage in ‘unrestricted discussion’ (Poster,
1989, p. 25).
Reasoned use of the human senses then might not be capable of producing much
more than existing definitions of human experience. It is proposed here that
reason, in its transcendental pretence, is a political tool for achieving the outcome
of the ‘rational’ subject in maintenance of a particular ‘regime of truth’. Popper
(1969) addresses the issue by adopting a tentative approach to the truth of scientific
discovery – a reticence stemming from the lack of any ultimate source of
knowledge. His falsifiability thesis proposes achievable truth as tentative
“…mixed with our errors, our prejudices, our dreams, and our hopes” (1969, p.
30), built upon a series of conjectures to be refuted or contradicted by observation
and reason. Although at its best, such a view of science admits to a degree of
uncertainty, the assured way in which the human sciences proceed to the
categorisation and subsequent treatment of human subjects belies the speculative
nature of what we ‘know’.
LYOTARD AND METANARRATIVE
Lyotard takes the critique of reason further. The self-legitimation of scientific
rationality as the means by which individuals come to know themselves through
the human sciences, is called into question by Lyotard’s “incredulity towards
metanarratives” (1984, p. xxiv) in what he calls ‘the postmodern condition’. He
introduced the notion of the Differend as a case of conflict that cannot be equitably
resolved for lack of an agreed-upon rule of judgement:
A case of differend between two parties takes place when the ‘regulation’ of
the conflict that opposes them is done in the idiom of one of the parties while
the wrong suffered by the other is not signified in that idiom (Lyotard, 1988,
p. 9).
In Lyotard’s analysis, when one of the parties in the debate is scientific
rationality itself, there is no possibility of a level playing field. To adopt scientific
rationality in judging arguments is to reach a foregone conclusion about the
legitimacy of science as a metanarrative. Similarly, the use of reason to judge nonrational
entities is a matter of incommensurate discourses at work.
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Yet in spite of a self-referential logic and without an a priori authority
established, the concept of reason – reason that appeals to itself for its own
legitimation – becomes the foundation stone for science, for philosophy and for
education within the liberal discourse. The defence of reason in this regard usually
begins with an assumption of the superiority of that realm and a refusal to
acknowledge any dialogue except reason. Siegel (2003), for example, claims the
philosophical high ground for reason in that “rationality cannot be coherently
rejected” (p. 316). Irrational dialogue is not permitted, while rational dialogue is
seen to reinforce the very concept of reason that is to be critiqued. Defence of
reason’s high ground usually consists of rational justification, although the
circularity in such self-referential logic is not often seen as problematic.
Lyotard’s (1984) report on knowledge in technologised societies has a major
impact on liberal-humanist assumptions about knowledge, not only in what counts
as knowledge, but also its status, its availability and its modes of transmission.
According to Lyotard, knowledge is increasingly defined by the metanarrative of
science and technology. Through technology, knowledge is commodified,
commercialised and exchangeable, and underpins narrow definitions of societal
relationships, such as ‘information society’ (Bell, 1973), ‘post-industrial society’
(Masuda, 1981), the ‘mode of information’ (Poster, 1990) and the more recent
‘knowledge economy’ (Stiglitz, 1999). The last of these terms metamorphosed
during recent education reforms in New Zealand into a more acceptable sounding
(but still ‘third way’) ‘knowledge economy and society’ (Ministry of Education,
2002). Against the ‘grand narrative’, Lyotard champions the cause of the ‘little
narrative’ – essentially the narrative of individual human beings without the need
for foundational justification apart from correcting abuses of individual freedoms
(Sim, 1998).
At the empirical level, Michael Peters (1996) interrogates scientific rationality
and the whole Enlightenment project in his interpretation of the Nazi Germany
phenomenon labelled after Auschwitz. It was the scientific discourse that not only
legitimated the final solution itself, but also after the holocaust, dictated what
research was allowable into the history of racism and National Socialism. The
possibility and the existence of Auschwitz, Peters argues, spells out the
“liquidation of the project of modernity” (1996, p. 117). Contra Kant and Hegel,
he argues that universal history does not move inevitably toward the better, and
that history does not have universal finality.
Consequently, it appears that reason as a grand narrative would have to divorce
itself from its practical outcomes to achieve moral legitimation as grand narrative
or guiding principle in the direction of western society. However, the
poststructuralists do not dispute some elements of reason in liberal culture. What
they dispute is “the lens that discerns ‘reason’ in law and democracy, but not in gas
chambers and atom bombs” (Poster, 1989, p. 22). The atrocity that was Auschwitz
means that reason cannot be sustained as the sole basis of the dignity and worth of
the individual, for the holocaust (as a rational project) was the abandonment of
human values and rights. It would be difficult to find a moral defence for any
development that meant the extermination of millions of people in a systematically
planned fashion. Such a programme is more in keeping with the blind efficiency of
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technology than with the respectful morality of humanism. And yet the
programme emanated from the very reason underpinning the humanist tradition
and the project of modernity in which the advance of reason signalled progress.
DERRIDA AND LINGUISTIC DECONSTRUCTION
The focus on literature and the arts as the expression of an underlying human
subject is seriously undermined not only by the multiple current interpretations of
that expression, but also by the changing context of language over time. In strong
contrast to the humanist reliance on reason as fundamental, Derrida (1978) uses
Saussure’s language of signs to interrogate the notion of the centre, introducing the
notion of play to describe the possibility of an alternative conceptualisation of
structure. He offers two interpretations of play, one seeking to decipher the truth
or origin that temporarily escapes interpretation, the other as “Nietzschean
affirmation of a world of signs without fault, without truth and without origin”
(Derrida, 1978, p. 292). The first interpretation operates within the metaphor of
science, as the process of investigation in the preliminary and preparatory ground
for an eventual yielding up of truth. The second interpretation would be akin to
continuous investigation, no final discovery and every ‘truth’ tentative. He
suggests that the two interpretations are irreconcilable, even though they share the
territory of the social sciences.
Instead of there being an underlying truth or rationalism as a basis for social
reality, Derrida’s position enables many interpretations of the text. Western culture
has tended to assume that speech is a clear and direct way to communicate.
Drawing on psychoanalysis and linguistics, Derrida questions this assumption, and
challenges the idea that text is imbued with unchanging, unified meaning. As a
result, the author’s intentions in speaking and/or writing cannot be unconditionally
accepted or assumed. Sturrock (1986) argues that even the author is in fact a
construct, or hypothesis, formed by a reader on the evidence of his or her reading:
“The process by which authors are constructed is circular: we abstract them from
the Texts and then use this abstraction to explain the Texts” (p. 154). This is not to
doubt the original flesh and blood existence of a writer, but to deny privileged
access to the internal motivations and intentions of that historical person. To claim
such privileged access is to fall victim to Nietzsche’s ‘error of false causality’:
Man … posited ‘things’ as possessing being according to his own image,
according to his concept of the ego as cause. No wonder he later always
discovered in things only that which he had put into them! … the concept
‘thing’ is merely a reflection of the belief in the ego as cause (TI, The Four
Great Errors §3).
Constructivist approaches to literature explore the relationship between reading
and writing processes, suggesting that readers transform texts written by others as
they build their own meanings, and that an imaginary intended reader is an integral
part of the authoring process (Spivey, 1997). Nietzsche’s practice of rewriting
prefaces to new editions at a later date and of conducting post facto critiques of his
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earlier works42 included renunciation of convictions held earlier, suggesting that an
original author is not even a stable centre of meaning to himself, but more like a
text that changes over time. It is debatable, therefore, whether ‘author-ity’ should
be located either in the original authoring or in the later interpretation, even where
the original author becomes the interpreter at a later date.
Derrida treats the author as a construct and so the number of legitimate
interpretations of a text is not limited. While there may be some discursive rules
for interpretation and therefore some interpretations better than others, the process
of de-origination of the author negates the essential quality of the text. This means
that neither the text nor the author is available as a source of universal norms to
underpin the humanist concept of a practical wisdom. Education’s quest to
promote the search for meaning becomes itself meaningless. There is a danger of
philosophical nihilism here since Derrida’s deconstruction can also be applied to
the nature of philosophical investigation. In a world of multiple interpretations,
philosophy cannot assume the guise of a meta-level mode of inquiry – in other
words, it may not be that philosophy has not yet found the truth; there may be no
truth to be found. This is not to say that philosophical investigation has no worth.
Rather, such inquiry amplifies Lyotard’s scepticism of metanarratives, treating all
such investigation as respectful in its approach and tentative in its outcomes.
Marshall & Peters (1994) take the Derridean deconstruction of language further
than a suspicion of philosophical method, arguing that the interpretation of
language is also problematic for science. Science, they say, becomes incapable of
legitimating other language games, but also incapable of legitimating itself.
Increasingly, they say,
Science has fallen under the sway of another game, technology whose goal is
not truth but optimal performance and whose criteria are minimising input
and maximising output rather than (the liberal humanist notions of) truth or
justice (Marshall & Peters, 1994, p. 4640).
‘SELF’ AS MULTIPLICITY AND CREATION
The poststructural critique of the subject was foreshadowed by Nietzsche in his
rejection of the liberal ‘self’ as a Christian teaching, – a position he called a soul
atomism – a belief which regards the soul as being something “indestructible,
eternal, indivisible as a monad, as an atomon” (BGE §12). This belief, he asserts,
ought to be ejected from science. As alternative conceptions of the soul, Nietzsche
goes on to claim civic rights for the idea of the ‘mortal soul’, the ‘soul as
multiplicity of the subject’ and the ‘soul as social structure of the drives and
emotions’.
42 Nietzsche added a preface entitled “Attempt at a Self-Criticism” to his first book, The Birth of
Tragedy (BT) some fifteen years after its original publication, in which he tried to relocate the book
inside morality rather than in its original explicit focus on the redemption of life through art.
Between 1886 and 1888, changes were also made to Human, All Too Human (HAH), Daybreak
(DB), and The Gay Science (GS). Written in 1888, his Ecce Homo (EH) was a thoroughgoing
critique of many of his earlier works.
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This sub-rational aspect was later developed by Freud and Jung as
psychoanalytic theory, providing an arena for multiple personalities, subpersonalities,
and various drives and complexes within the psychic personality.
Both Freud and Jung worked with dreams, and with patients suffering psychoses,
neuroses and schizophrenia. The idea of a multiplicity of ‘selves’ or subject
positions was compatible with theories of the unconscious, although Freud (1932)
saw the function of psychoanalysis as a rational project of ‘strengthening the ego’,
to establish more control over the instinctual drives. In Freudian terms, the ego is
the medium for rationally interpreting the external world and controlling the
instinctual drives of the id. Freud saw the ego as standing for reason and good
sense while the id represented the untamed passions. For Freud, the ego is
gradually developed as the infant interacts with the external social world. Lacan
(1977) too, in his work with the ‘mirror’ stage of human development, shows how
the child’s distinction between self and other is a result of the recognition of the
social. The idea of incorporating ‘the other’ into the psyche identifies the self as a
composite social construction. Given that the child interacts with many others
through its development, it is easy to conceptualise the self as composed in large
part of others – each person as many persons.
There are similarities between Nietzsche’s ‘higher men’ (Z IV, On the Higher
Man) in their critical, only half-successful overcoming of a sick ‘mob’ morality,
and Freud’s (1932) super-ego which features a critical, moral agency as an
antithesis to the instinctual drives of the individual. Nietzsche’s Übermensch
shares some features too with Freud’s ‘ego’, as both attempt to reconcile
competing forces, the former working with Apollonian order and Dionysian frenzy,
the latter with the tempestuous forces of the id and the moralising of the super-ego.
But in contrast to Freud who has the process as unconscious, Nietzsche contends
that we can shape our ideals by freely choosing our educators and exemplary
figures. Thus, Nietzsche’s imperative throughout his writings to ‘become who you
are’ is not about the emergence of an existing a priori essence, nor to achieving a
finite potential, but to the ongoing process of creation and re-creation of one’s
existence.
The assumption of one single subject is perhaps unnecessary; perhaps it is
just as permissible to assume a multiplicity of subjects, whose interaction and
struggle is the basis of our thought and our consciousness in general? (WP
§490).
As a means of conceptualising the self as a multiplicity, Parkes (1989) offers the
metaphor of the theatre, with the self as a cast of many, one actor after another
taking charge for as long as a particular play is working. He suggests the idea of a
dramatic pluralism, and in keeping with Nietzschean thought, refers to “a sort of
thespian equivalent of a dynamic aristocracy of talent ... not one immortal soul, but
many mortal souls” (Parkes, 1989, p. 468).
Extending Parkes’ metaphor, a few interesting analogies can be drawn between
theatrical drama, and the socially constructed self able to adopt multiple subject
positions. Like the self, the theatre is a particular social construct, located
historically and bound by certain rules of existence. Without an audience or a
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script, there can be no drama, and the audience participation and feedback shapes
the performance and the responses of the actors. The actors themselves don
different masks to switch between character parts, and their stage roles sometimes
merge with what they believe is their ‘real’ life. Critics are experts presumed to
know what constitutes a credible performance, their pronouncements often
determining whether a production should continue or whether it should be
consigned to the scrap heap as worthless. Various mood swings and changes of
pace are evoked by the script in a stage production. The author and/or scriptwriters
are responsible for setting the parameters for the story, and actors are expected to
play out their individual roles while always contributing to the communal whole.
The prima donna is the exception rather than the rule, and the actors, producers,
ticket sellers, ushers and the support team all operate by agreed rules, each role
recognisable by its characteristic patterns of behaviour. As Shakespeare’s As You
Like It character, Jaques, mused – ‘All the World’s a Stage’.
The self is also a particular social construct, located historically and bound by
certain rules of existence. The self takes on a role (arguably an identity), which is
shaped and patterned by a complex set of social interactions from birth (or earlier).
With no social audience or troupe of fellow actors, the self would be a lost soul,
and there are experts – “‘psy’-specialists”43 (Donzelot, 1979, p. 229) who decide
whether certain self-configurations are acceptable for social participation.
Socialisation and education ensure that particular scripts are learned, schooling
ensures adequate performance, while the stage crew of the liberal state ensures the
policing of economic stability for the production of the drama of the self.
Individual labels, role categories, and standards of moral behaviour ensure that at
any time the self is following the right script and implicated in bringing its
character to life, all the while contributing to the good of the communal whole. As
the means of self-direction, the rational ego is charged with control, so at all times
the self is constrained within acceptable, recognizable and (always) reasonable
limits.
Continuing the metaphor of the stage play, the rational ego is but one player,
whose justification for assuming dominance is, by definition, rational, and
therefore self-referential. This is not an argument for abolishing the rational ego
altogether, as it has an important place in the drama. Rather, a Nietzschean
perspective might acknowledge the utility provided by reason, but at the same time
challenge its appropriation of the auditioning and directing role, its decisionmaking
over what will constitute the script, and its constant upstaging of the other
characters. Nietzsche’s perspectivism leaves no coherent script, no single direction
43 Donzelot includes in this group those practising psychology, psychiatry, psychotherapy and psychopedagogy.
The ‘psy’-specialists are charged with shaping subjectivity at the intersection of society
and family. Unlike the priest who is handicapped by being riveted to his defence of moral values,
and unlike the doctor who operates within restricted operational codes, the ‘psy’ specialist is,
according to Donzelot, a specialist in indecision, furnishing a
neutral terrain for the resolution of differences of regime between the management of bodies
and the management of populations, [their discourse allowing them to] circumscribe this
position, to mark out its circuits and block its exits (Donzelot, 1997, pp. 229-230).
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to be provided by the character of reason, no prompting from fundamental rules,
and no cue cards or definitive ‘author-ity’ in transcendental truth. How then is the
dramatic production to be constituted? How might some of the character parts be
conceived? And what parameters might constrain such a production, in applying
the metaphor to a direction for the philosophy of education?
Nietzsche advocates self-overcoming as the path towards the Übermensch and
genuine culture. Hillesheim prefers the translation ‘self surpassing’ and refers to
the Greek agon as a public contest to provide a model for individual living. The
agonistic contest does not involve progress through Hegel’s negation or
annihilation of the ‘other’, nor is it akin to the mournful suffering of the Christian
agony as the path to heavenly salvation. Suffering is reconstituted as an energetic
approach to life, as reconciliation and the creation of a higher self, and welcomed
as necessary for strengthening of the spirit in this earthly life. Man should turn the
concept inward:
to apply it to the theatre of the mind and heart, to convert it into a universal
principle of individual creativity. It is the contest waged within one’s own
psyche, the confrontation of images, ideas, values and emotions, that
provides the necessary fuel or energy for the dynamic process of self
surpassing (Hillesheim, 1986, p. 173).
The idea of contest and reconciliation is not foreign to Nietzsche’s thought.
Higgins (1988) describes the significance of the Dionysian and the Apollonian
views of life, and the Nietzschean idea of a healthy life as the integration of both
the Apollonian and the Dionysian perspectives. The Dionysian offers a portrait of
life as a passionate and tumultuous flux that has no ultimate respect for anything
individual or orderly. In contrast, the Apollonian perspective of reality is orderly,
graspable and beautiful. Nietzsche’s view was that Greek tragedy managed such a
reconciliation by embracing the irrational (Higgins, 1988, p. 137).
Cooper’s (1983a) examination of Nietzsche’s philosophy in relation to
education warns against the reification involved in treating the self as an a priori
essence, and suggests instead a notion of ‘authenticity’ that focuses not on
individual essence, but on what it is to be human. He argues that the command ‘Be
what you are!’ implies that we should live as the kind of beings we really are –
ones distinguished, that is, by the capacity for self-concern. This, he suggests, is
not a reference to ‘true selves’ but to how people should live self-creating lives.
Nehamas (1985) contributes significantly to the ‘creative’ story, portraying life
as literature. His analysis of Nietzsche’s writing depicts life as continuous creation
and characterisation, emphasising the flow of the text rather than the cultivation of
stable and predictable character traits. Like Deleuze, he believes that Nietzsche
does not think of the self as a state of being that follows and replaces an earlier
process of becoming. Nietzsche indeed is adamant that human action is not a result
of preconceived human intention: “There is no being behind doing, effecting,
becoming; ‘the doer’ is merely a fiction added to the deed – the deed is everything”
(GM 1 §13). Rather, he sees it as a continual process of integrating one’s thoughts,
desires, and actions. It is a matter of accepting responsibility for everything that
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we have done, and realising that everything that we have done actually constitutes
who each one of us is.
To be who one is, we can now see, is to be engaged in a constantly
continuing and continually broadening process of appropriation of one’s
experiences and actions, of enlarging the capacity for assuming responsibility
for oneself (Nehamas, 1985, p. 191).
Indicative of the idea of ‘self’ as multiplicity, Nietzsche’s frequent reference to
theatrical masks signifies not a real actor in disguise, but variously – an expected
social performance (GS §365), a comfort for the socially ‘refined’ (BGE §270), the
preservation of a reflective space for profound spirits (BGE §40), a healthy craving
for a role in life (GS §361), a place to hide from critics (BGE §25), a publicly
acceptable form of appearance for the terror of true philosophy (GM III §10), and a
placeholder for further masks to come (BGE §289).
Nietzschean philosophy refuses the search for origins or exact essences,
characterising such a search as “the removal of every mask to ultimately disclose
an original identity” (Foucault, 1984d, p. 78). Instead, the world is seen as
‘accident and succession’ in a world not of ultimate origin, but of continuous
concealing and revealing:
If the genealogist refuses to extend his faith in metaphysics, if he listens to
history, he finds that there is ‘something altogether different’ behind things:
not a timeless and essential secret, but the secret that they have no essence or
that their essence was fabricated in a piecemeal fashion from alien forms
(Foucault, 1984d, p. 78).
With ‘untruth’ as a ‘condition of life’ (BGE §4), Nietzsche posits a more
comprehensive world behind every surface – “an abyss behind every ground,
beneath every ‘foundation’” (BGE §289), claiming that the point at which a
philosopher stops is merely arbitrary and does not signal any ‘final and real’
opinions at all: “Every philosophy also conceals a philosophy; every opinion is
also a hiding-place, every word also a mask” (BGE §289). In other words,
‘identity’ or ‘truth’ is merely the next mask in succession, beneath which there are
yet more masks. Rather than commiserate over lost origins, Foucault suggests that
the new historian, the genealogist, will enjoy the masquerade of constantly
reappearing masks – genealogy as “history in the form of a concerted carnival”
(Foucault, 1984d, p. 94).
EDUCATION AS CRITICAL ENGAGEMENT
In view of the challenges presented above, education cannot uncritically assume
the inevitability or the value of universal reason either as its goal or as its
mechanism. Nor can it promote unproblematically a stable subject of reason
against a life of multiplicity and theatrical creation. The human sciences, based on
rationality and sense perceptions, are not a source of certainty. The liberal
disciplines are predicated on reason which itself is called into question. In
examining the implications of such a critique for education, a problem arises in
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acknowledging that philosophical analysis itself has no inherent access to ‘the
truth’, so no meta-solution can be found there. Education becomes a critical and
constructive engagement with the world rather than representing inexorable
progress or positivistic discovery of transcendental truth.
To deconstruct the rationality behind the subject of humanism is to render the
problem for education as a search for meaning, for which there can be no
justifiable solution within the liberal discourse. Nor, according to Young’s (2003)
rejection of Derrida, can we find a meaningful existence in the process of
deconstruction itself, since one’s personal narrative retains its power only to the
extent that it resists deconstruction. However, Nietzsche’s ‘death of god’ does not
signal the end of all possibility, and Derrida does not want to do away with the
subject entirely:
I believe that at a certain level both of experience and of philosophical and
scientific discourse, one cannot get along without the notion of the subject. It
is a question of knowing where it comes from and how it functions (Derrida,
1970, p. 271).
Within a Derridean deconstruction or after Nietzsche’s ‘death of God’, future
direction cannot be predicated in Enlightenment notions of progress, or the
betterment of the human condition. It must instead treat every step we take as a
beginning or as a pragmatic “rearrangement of the maze that we coinhabit
together” (Kiziltan et al., 1990, p. 369). Temporary respite is found in Foucault’s
refusal to accept the ‘blackmail of the Enlightenment’ as a privileged position for
analysis, and his “permanent reactivating of an attitude – that is, of a philosophical
ethos that could be described as a permanent critique of our historical era”
(Foucault, 1984a, p. 42).
Rather than negating the modernist concern with public life and critical
rationality, Giroux (1988) steps out from his Marxist perspective in advocating a
version of postmodern engagement – with foundationalism, culture, difference and
subjectivity; to provide the basis for questioning the modernist ideal of the good
life. Rather than celebrate the narratives of the masters, he says, educators might
engage with postmodernism to question how narratives get constructed, how they
represent particular epistemological and political views of the world, and how they
operate to regulate moral and social experience:
Postmodernism attempts to delineate how borders are named, it attempts to
redraw the very maps of meaning, desire, and difference, it inscribes the
social and individual body with new intellectual and emotional investments,
and it calls into question traditional forms of power and its accompanying
modes of legitimation (Giroux, 1988, p. 25).
A recent educational journal focussing on critical pedagogy and race theories
features the expected Marxist calls for resistance to various forms of
marginalisation and oppression through class struggle and fundamental change in
the relations of production (e.g., Allen, 2004; Scatamburlo-D’Annibale &
McLaren, 2004). Within such analyses, poststructural accounts of difference are
vilified as an ‘ideas marketplace’ where all vendors display their different cultural
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goods – “a posture which reinscribes a neo-liberal pluralist stance rooted in the
ideology of free-market capitalism” (Scatamburlo-D’Annibale & McLaren, 2004,
p. 186). The accusation is that the seemingly radical discursive manoeuvres
amount to little more than “academics striking radical poses in the seminar rooms”
(ibid. 193) while doing nothing to further the struggles against oppression and
exploitation that occur in the material world. However, those same authors are as
guilty as their targets of attempting to reach an academic audience in the hope of
raising a consciousness that prepares the ground for subjective change, and headon
confrontation or violence has not proven to be a way forward for the longrunning
Marxist critique of capitalism.
A less militant posture in the same journal is that the challenge for education is
to construct a pragmatic process of ‘meaningful, reciprocal communication’ that
would help us reconnect our emotional and ethical investments with our work, our
students and each other; and for a ‘deepening investment in community’:
a sense of community that must be built from the charred remains of
modernization and colonization. We will build this community by re-infusing
difference, plurality, heterogeneity, and intellectual problematization into the
daily lives of our school children and into our lives as brokers of cultural
knowledge and social change (McCarthy & Dimitriadis, 2004, p. 212).
Giroux, too, finds considerable appeal in the postmodern concern with diversity,
contingency and cultural pluralism, but is not prepared to abandon his defence of
the modernist notion of public life or the struggle for equality and liberty at the
heart of liberal democracy. Advocating a ‘radical democracy’, he argues for
‘engaged plurality’ and ‘critical citizenship’ – as much a political as it is a
pedagogical project, and one that calls for educators to combine democratic public
philosophy with a “postmodern theory of resistance” (op. cit., p. 27). Such
proposals are still likely to be policed within Western society, however, since their
political focus admits to the desire for radical change. Conversely, conservative
solutions are likely to be framed in traditional language and involve a mere
revamping of the same assumptions upon which the liberal institutions have been
based. Swift ideological change is therefore unlikely without the imposition of the
kind of violence historically associated with paradigm shifts in political realities44.
Because the process of self-creation is a continuous narrative, the philosophy of
education cannot produce a finished script. However, advocating an eclectic
approach, Aviram (1991) asserts that Nietzsche never intended to supply us with a
systematic philosophical resolution of all life’s riddles, and that in Nietzschean
spirit, we should use modern theories to provide a productive framework of
thought about what would constitute the desired individual.
The critical engagement for education then, is not a simple choice between
Marxist revolution and postmodern marketplace. The importance of Nietzsche’s
critique lies not in dismantling the whole project of education, but in
44 Examples include Machiavelli’s 16th century advice to the prince (1993, p. 68); the early
colonisation of Aotearoa New Zealand by the British, for which the New Zealand Government is
currently making large financial settlements by way of apology; and the ‘war on terror’ as the
metaphor for the imposition of democratic government on the people of Iraq.
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problematising the nature of the relationship between the self and society, in
questioning the governing role played by reason in the development of social
selves, and in interrogating the political structures that are charged with
maintaining the current order. Translated into educational thinking, that might
entail a de-emphasis on scientific rationality and a greater emphasis on a
deconstructive genealogy of the social and cultural milieu in which the self and
society define each other. Such a project is the development of Nietzsche’s
Übermensch.
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NIETZSCHE, AUTONOMY AND SUBJECTIVITY
NIETZSCHE AND FOUCAULT
It was argued in chapter four that the system of Kantian ethics relies on a notion of
autonomy made possible by the Christian heritage of a transcendental goodness,
and its personification in the human capacity for rational thought. Although Kant
posited a system of morality outside of religious faith, Nietzsche was concerned
that the “shadows of God” (GS §109) still persist in the transcendental world of
Kantian reason. He refused to accept reason as the basis of human dignity in his
condemnation of Christian morality as a “holy lie” (AC §36). This chapter argues
that the contingent nature of ‘being’ and the idea of life as continuous creation
negate modernist notions of the self as real, as transcendental or as universal. In
the face of such negation, Kantian autonomy is insufficient as an ethical base, and
is explored here in relation to the Nietzschean subject, referring in particular to
Foucault’s notions of ‘governmentality’ and ‘subjectivity’, locating the modern self
firmly within the rationality of government.
It would be difficult to portray subjectivity as a Nietzschean project without
acknowledging both Foucault’s interpretation and his development of Nietzsche’s
ideas in this area. The links between Foucault and Nietzsche, extending over a
range of themes, are well documented by others45 and acknowledged by Foucault,
not least in his 1974 lecture on the formation of the ‘subject’ of knowledge:
It would have been possible, and perhaps more honest, to cite only one name,
that of Nietzsche, because what I say here won’t mean anything if it isn’t
connected to Nietzsche’s work, which seems to me to be the best, the most
effective, the most pertinent of the models that one can draw upon (Foucault,
2001a, p. 5).
Before delving into the question of subjectivity, however, it is helpful to
highlight some similarities between the two thinkers so as to appreciate the extent
to which Foucault might be considered ‘Nietzschean’, and to appreciate the power
of Nietzsche’s thought in its subsequent development at the hands of Foucault.
Foucault was quick to avoid being associated with any particular intellectual
tradition or philosophical category, sidestepping such labels as “anarchist, leftist,
ostentatious or disguised Marxist, nihilist, explicit or secret anti-Marxist,
technocrat in service of Gaullism, new liberal…etc.” (Foucault, 1984b, p. 383). He
also denied being “a phenomenologist or a structuralist” (Foucault, 1997a, p. 125);
45 See, for example: Mahon, 1992; McKerrow, 2000; Megill, 1987; Schrift, 1995 & 2000; Shapiro
2003; Stauth & Turner 1988.
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and similarly “a Freudian, a Marxist, a structuralist, or an analytic philosopher”
(Mahon, 1992, p. 180). It is significant then, when Foucault refers in an interview
to his own ‘fundamental Nietzscheanism’, declaring baldly, “I am simply a
Nietzschean” (Foucault, 1996, p. 471).
Stauth & Turner (1988) trace Foucault’s philosophical style back to Nietzsche,
particularly his use of genealogy and archaeology, along with his alternative
epistemological views on science, philosophy and art. The use of genealogy, a
technology shared by both philosophers – although Foucault’s use focussed on
more specific events – reveals new perspectives on the present and the past and is a
means to “sacrifice what we consider as ‘knowledge’” (Shapiro, 2003, p. 290),
linking it firmly to the discourse of power. Foucault’s ‘archaeology’ of knowledge
has been described as “Nietzsche-inspired” (Mahon, 1992, p. 16) with Nietzsche’s
attack on the Cartesian subject underpinning Foucault’s (1984c) critique of the
integrity of ‘the author’, revealing the originating subject as a function of
discursive rules. Opened up instead, in the space vacated by Nietzsche’s death of
God, is the possibility, not of replacement, but of reinterpretation and new creation:
“We must locate the space left empty by the author’s disappearance, follow the
distribution of gaps and breaches and watch for the openings that this
disappearance uncovers” (Foucault, 1984c, p. 105).
In similar vein to Nietzsche’s early essay depicting truth as “the duty to lie
according to fixed convention” for the purpose of social preservation (TL §1),
Foucault points out the economic and political role occupied by a ‘regime of truth’;
‘truth’ being portrayed as “a system of ordered procedures for the production,
regulation, distribution, circulation and operation of statements” (Foucault, 1980,
p. 133). The critique of foundational truth is explored more fully later in this book
within a discussion of poststructural thought, but is mentioned here as another
similarity between the two philosophers.
Foucault’s acknowledgement of Nietzsche as the “philosopher of power”
(Foucault, 1980, p. 53) masks his own focus on power relations. In spite of
Foucault’s claim to be “an experimenter and not a theorist” (2001b, p. 240), he too
has been identified as a “theorist of power” (Shapiro, 2003, p. 391), relying on the
idea of resistance for his notion of freedom and drawing inspiration from
Nietzsche’s linkage between power, truth and knowledge. Schrift (1995) argues
additionally that the impact of Nietzsche’s thinking on power retains much of its
currency largely through Foucault’s own works (p. 34). Thus a focus on
Nietzschean subjectivity is enriched by the inclusion of Foucault’s perspective.
Some caution is wise however, since Foucault admits to feeling at liberty to take
Nietzsche’s thought, “to use it, to deform it, to make it groan and protest”
(Foucault, 1980, p. 54) without too much concern about being unfaithful to his
predecessor. Such interpretation may of course be considered precisely
Nietzschean in the working out of Zarathustra’s warning that “One repays a teacher
badly if one always remains nothing but a pupil” (Z I, On the Gift-Giving Virtue
§3).
Other similar themes emerge in Nietzsche and Foucault too. Nietzsche’s
appreciation of certainty as mere illusion after the death of God is mirrored in
Foucault’s (1980) perspective on ‘power/knowledge’ and his suspicion towards the
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human sciences. Foucault’s (1977) exposition of disciplinary knowledge in the
emergence of the human sciences is evocative of Nietzsche’s discussion of
punishment in the second essay of the Genealogy. Both thinkers share a normative
commitment to life as an aesthetic phenomenon46, with a focus on visual images
and dreams as a work of art (Shapiro, 2003, p. 204). Both Nietzsche and Foucault
reject any totalising or normalising trend in favour of difference – Foucault through
the operation of freedom and Nietzsche through his Übermensch. In dealing with
nihilism too, both philosophers adopt an affirmative stance in their cultural critique
of “a derelict present, of a nothing out of which everything must be created”
(Megill, 1987, p. 183). In addition, both thinkers are committed to a radical
scepticism about teleological progress, and the division between the real and the
apparent (Mahon, 1992).
Foucault’s ideas are used, then, to enhance and clarify a Nietzschean perspective
on human ‘becoming’ (as opposed to ‘being’), highlighting subsequent
development of Nietzsche’s thought in working with the forces that come into play
in the development of subjectivity.
GENEALOGY
Foucault paid an explicit debt of gratitude to Nietzsche for what became an
important investigative style known as ‘genealogy’ – a style which problematised
truth as intimately entwined with relations of power, and suggested different
interpretations of the origins of our taken-for-granted values and concepts. In his
article Nietzsche, Genealogy, History, Foucault (1984d) suggests our ‘knowledge’
of the essence of things may arise from mere accidents, errors, false appraisals or
faulty calculations. He distinguishes between the notion of ‘origin’ as a search for
essence (Ursprung), and as a descent from ‘numberless beginnings’ (Herkunft). A
focus on the latter does not need a single origin, but offers many threads of
explanation so that in the end, no particular explanation is privileged.47
An unpublished note from Nietzsche claims that what is needed above all is “an
absolute skepticism toward all inherited concepts” (WP §409). The genealogist,
for both Nietzsche and Foucault, locates the ‘origins’ of these concepts and values
in the cultural practices and conditions from which they emerged:
“Both Nietzsche and Foucault, then, are committed to genealogical critique,
the attempt to reveal the historical context of events, their historical
conditions of existence. Both seek to reveal the unquestioned premises of a
culture, the practical background from which events and the entities of our
experience emerge. Genealogy for both is a quest for ‘origins,’ but both
assume that no thing is to be found at the origin; there is no original or
transcendental signified. Any thing, person, event is construed to be a matter
46 BT, Attempt at a Self Criticism §2
47 In the manner of genealogical investigation, Foucault (1975) provides an excellent example of
multiple possibilities in the various accounts of a murder, for which there are many competing
stories, but no way to know the ‘truth’. In the end all the reader is left with are multiple beliefs
about what may have happened.
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of historical, cultural, practical interpretation, and beneath the series of
interpretations there is no thing” (Mahon, 1992, p. 125).
Chapter five earlier proposed three distinct, but interdependent, modes of
criticism within Nietzschean genealogy: logical criticism, genetic criticism and
functional criticism (Warren, 1988). Foucault, in a 1983 interview, had also raised
the possibility of three domains of genealogy:
First, an historical ontology of ourselves in relation to truth through which we
constitute ourselves as subjects of knowledge; second, an historical ontology
of ourselves in relation to a field of power through which we constitute
ourselves as subjects acting on others; third, an historical ontology in relation
to ethics through which we constitute ourselves as moral agents” (Foucault,
1997b, p. 262).
In laying out what is meant by his style of genealogy, Foucault emphasises the
local character of criticism, rather than a global or totalitarian perspective
dependent on established regimes of thought. What is argued for is the
insurrection of “subjugated knowledges” (Foucault, 1980, p. 81) – those
knowledges that, on the one hand, may have been disguised by prevalent theory,
and on the other hand, those that may have been disqualified through being
inadequately elaborated or insufficiently scientific. In this latter group, Foucault
includes knowledges of the psychiatric patient, of the ill person, of the nurse, of the
doctor (as distinct from medical discourse), and of the delinquent. It is the reappearance
of these ‘subjugated knowledges’ that challenges ‘scientific’48 claims
to a unitary body of theory that would filter and hierarchise experience in the name
of some ‘true’ knowledge, and explains Foucault’s definition of genealogy: “Let us
give the term genealogy to the union of erudite knowledge and local memories
which allows us to establish a historical knowledge of struggles and to make use of
this knowledge tactically today” (ibid., p. 83).
Genealogy, then, does not signal a search for a more exact form of science,
subject to a particular hierarchy of procedures. Rather, Foucault argues, genealogy
should be seen as an ‘anti-science’:
[an] attempt to emancipate historical knowledges from that subjection, to
render them … capable of opposition and of struggle against the coercion of a
theoretical, unitary, formal and scientific discourse (Foucault, 1980, p. 84).
It is important to emphasise the power of genealogy as a technique to question
the traditional teleology of ultimate origins and essential truths. Foucault’s
genealogy is, thus, a Nietzschean form of critique, in that it “denies any
foundational assumptions about our nature … and … reveals the contingency, even
arbitrariness, of what appears natural and necessary, and thereby it serves to open
48 The term ‘scientific’ is used here to signify the use of empirical techniques to authorise particular
definitions of human activity, and thereby limiting future possibilities. The scare quotes indicate
recognition that not all approaches to science function in this way – in particular the work of
Bachelard, Canguilhelm, Kuhn and Popper, who undermine the positivism of much scientific
endeavour and whose work allows for the kind of historical challenge that Foucault undertakes.
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possibilities” (Mahon, 1992, p. 14). Working from the present, genealogy can
unravel a variety of competing histories and thus suggest various possible
interpretations of the present and the future, without searching for ultimate truth.
Whereas Foucault’s genealogical technique focussed on specific historical
events49, Nietzsche’s genealogical approach was a much broader brush-sweep. His
On the Genealogy of Morals is an interrogation of Christian values, arising as “a
new knowledge of the conditions and circumstances in which they grew, under
which they evolved and changed .... a knowledge of a kind that has never yet
existed or even been desired” (GM preface §6). It might be added: ‘or will ever be
accepted’, considering that his genealogy exposes justice as evolving from an
economic model of debt based on guilt, and his portrayal of morality as being
developed through the intentional use of torture, sacrifices and mutilation.
What follows here, then, is a genealogical examination of the notion of personal
autonomy as the basis for a system of ethics. It examines the philosophical
assumptions underlying various conceptions of autonomy, and presents a brief
etymology of the term ‘autonomy’. This analysis shows that the Enlightenment
(and in particular, Kant’s) notion of ‘personal autonomy’ is incompatible with
Nietzsche’s belief that the self is under continuous creation. It also provides the
basis for arguing that ‘truth’ is enmeshed in the discourse of power and that the
continuous creation of ‘self’ is not an unbounded enterprise.
AUTONOMY
Following Kant’s prescription, a moral philosopher might argue that autonomous
persons are those who have attained the highest stage of moral thought and
judgment, guided by “universal ethical principles that all humanity should follow”
(Kohlberg, 1981, p. 412). Autonomous persons are said to be in charge of their
own lives, because they can determine for themselves, especially with the help of
reason the nature and content of their beliefs, attitudes and emotions, and the
purposes and nature of their actions. In being a person of this kind one is freed
from the dogma and/or authority of others – one is independent. “Hence the
freeing of people through education has often been interpreted as positing personal
autonomy (often rational autonomy) as an aim, if not the aim, of education” (Peters
& Marshall, 1996, p. 86).
Lankshear (1982, p. 96) points out the multiplicity of meanings associated with
the idea of ‘autonomy’. While it might denote a stage in adolescent cognitive
development, the term is also used to refer to a two-year-old child’s toilet habits. It
is also used variously as a synonym for such notions as ‘independence’, a ‘sense of
agency’, ‘individuality’, and the process of ‘deciding for oneself’. The vagueness
of such ordinary language usage, however, is inadequate as an ethical base, and is
too limited to underpin universal liberal education or for the public funding of a
national education system.
49 Foucault’s (1977) genealogy of punishment begins with a specific description of the torture,
execution and burning of the regicide, Damiens, down to the last detail including how long the
pieces to flesh took to burn.
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One version of personal autonomy, compatible with a liberal educational ideal,
is embedded firmly in the rationalist Kantian tradition, and involves the attempt to
give an “ethical embodiment to the idea of being independent or self-governing”
(Lankshear, 1982, p. 97). Barrow (1975, p. 138) argues that an autonomous person
must think authentically, but must also “think well”, although there are difficulties
in determining what criteria might be used to determine how ‘well’ such thinking
might be, since the kind of reasoning that characterises Kant’s autonomous person
(moral reasoning) is the same kind of reasoning that underpins a judgment about
whether that thinking is morally sound. Thus a requirement to ‘think well’ is, at
best, a recipe for propagation of Kantian morality, and at worst, self-referential.
It is possible to conceive of other versions of autonomy that do not involve
moral thought and action. One such position is predicated on the existentialist
notion that existence precedes essence. ‘Authentic’ choices cannot be explained by
moral law or by determination of human nature. Man, rather than appealing to
some ethic or formula outside himself as a guide for action, is faced with
spontaneity of choice, for which he bears an “unavoidable responsibility” (Sartre,
1948, p. 37). To act in accordance with some universal laws or principles per se,
would be to act inauthentically, so in this account, there is no criterion against
which to judge the morality of thought or action. Dearden uses the work of Hare,
Sartre and Popper, in developing a thesis about autonomy, its purpose being “to
show that our actions are in no way constrained by inclinations, customary social
practices, role-expectations, authorities, gods, human nature or mindless processes.
We choose or decide to act in the way we do” (Dearden, 1968, p. 154). For
Dearden, there is no necessary connection between autonomy and morality,
although he does have the autonomous person as rational.
Whereas both Dearden and Barrow insist that autonomy relies on reason, other
views suggest that the autonomic needs more than just a minimal sense of being
coherent and consistent. Walker (1976), for example, argues for a view of
autonomy that encompasses desire and feeling rather than being subject to reason.
Autonomy in this sense is not dependent on, nor limited to, morality or even
rationality. Concepts such as needs, drives and appetites inhere in the idea of
human nature as lying beyond the scope of the rational. This extended sense of
autonomy is more in keeping with Nietzsche’s aesthetic interpretation of humanity
as a more adequate basis for human action than the categorical imperative and the
sense of moral duty put forward by Kant.
Examining the etymology of the term ‘autonomy’ reveals the implied dualistic
relationship between a self (autos) and some system of law (nomos). Lankshear
(1982) conceives of the autos as the ownership or authenticity condition of
autonomy, and the nomos as some code, body of criteria, or set of standards in
accordance with which individuals regulate their theoretical and practical activities.
There are several logical possibilities for the relationship between autos and
nomos. First, the autos may make the law and act (or not) accordingly. The degree
to which thought and action correspond with rational or moral law is often
considered to be the degree to which the individual is autonomous. Second, the
autos may take on others’ law and act (or not) accordingly. Distinct from the
autonomic, this person is considered to be heteronomous. Third, the autos may act
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independently without recourse to any law, typified below in the description of the
‘anomic’ individual. Finally, as critics of modernity would have it, the autos may
have been constituted and/or contaminated by the law and so may not function
independently.
According to Benn, (cited in Lankshear, 1982) the nomos of the autonomic is
her own based on “a still-continuing process of criticism and re-evaluation” on the
part of the individual. A defining characteristic of Benn’s autonomous person is
that (s)he is prepared to evaluate through rational reflection, the beliefs, rules and
values that form the basis for thought and action, meaning only a rational person
can be defined as autonomous. To satisfy Benn’s ownership or authenticity
condition of autonomy, the beliefs, thought, tastes and actions of the autonomous
person must also be her own. The idea that a nomos based on rationality can be
evaluated by reference to that same rationality as the basis for a reflective process
is somewhat circular to say the least, but this appears to present no problem to the
defenders of a rational autonomy. This criticism is one of the major planks of
poststructural critique and an important part of Nietzsche’s corpus.
In Kantian fashion, Richard Peters (1966) bases the idea of ‘autonomy’ on the
ability and determination to regulate one’s life by rules which one has accepted for
oneself. He advocates ‘predictability’ in a ‘stable condition of order’ with
‘determinate sanctions’, and suggests that autonomy is unlikely to develop if young
people are “pitchforked into an anarchic situation in which they are told that they
have to decide everything for themselves” (p. 198). Relevant to the discussion at
hand is his ‘solution’ to the development of autonomy as “a middle course between
authoritarianism and permissiveness” (ibid.). His proposed ‘balance’ encapsulates,
but does not resolve, one of liberalism’s major tensions, the idea of freedom being
achieved through considerable unfreedom, or autonomy being achieved through
the restraint of desire and emotion.
In contrast to the autonomous individual, the heteronomous person can be
described as one whose thought and actions are governed by other people, in that
she adopts or accepts ideas, beliefs, demands, opinions and tasks to which she is
exposed without subjecting them to personal scrutiny. Dearden (1972) also argues,
in Kantian manner, that the following of wants and desires is heteronomous, in that
the preferences are external to the rational activity of the mind, and therefore
determined by outside influence50.
Further contrast is offered in Feinberg’s concept of ‘anomie’. Unlike autonomy
and heteronomy, which have some system of law as an integrating factor for
thought and action, ‘anomie’ refers to a person’s “inability to order her desires,
purposes, and ideals into some hierarchy of importance, urgency or
worthwhileness” (Lankshear, 1982, p. 99). The ‘anomic’ individual makes no
attempt to live consistently and lacks standards or principles governing thought and
belief with no criteria for establishing truth. Although the anomic individual might
be pathologised as “breaking down into a heterarchy or psychoses” (ibid.), the
50 Imperatives based on wants and desires would be
contingent, and therefore incapable of being an apodictic practical rule, such as the moral rule
must be (Kant, 1988, p. 74).
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condition of ‘anomie’ appears to share some common boundaries with Walker’s
(op. cit.) account of autonomy as inclusive of desire and emotion, and Sartre’s
existential spontaneity of choice. The denigration of anomie exposes the
normalised status of a system of rational law (whether that be an autonomous or
heteronomous process), and is a good example of how some positions are
marginalised and others empowered as ‘true’.
Lankshear argues that the autonomous person is free, “in virtue of her reason
triumphing over the constraining influence of desire, impulse, prejudice,
inclination etc...”, and that “...her thought and action is not imposed by her milieu”
(1982, p. 114). However, such triumph is problematic, particularly if one were to
adopt an account of autonomy that includes desire and emotion, in which case the
triumph of reason over desire (contra Hume’s formulation of reason as ‘slave to the
passions’) is not so much ‘freedom’, as an internal conflict with the denial of the
emotive self. Irrespective of whether desire is considered part of autonomy, it will
be argued that a Nietzschean perspective removes any metaphysical ground to
appeal to. Reason, desire and emotion are all features of the cultural landscape and
aspects of human sociality. Rather than trying to adjudicate in an indeterminate
contest, it may be more profitable to examine the philosophical assumptions
underlying various conceptions of autonomy, and the relationship between
autonomy and a constituent rationality/morality. Such an examination provides a
framework that establishes why Nietzsche (and Foucault) would be sceptical about
the notion of autonomy, not only as an aim of education, but as a possibility in
itself.
SUBJECTIVITY
Towards the end of his career, Foucault announced that the goal of his work during
the previous twenty years had not been an analysis of power, but to examine the
ways in which human beings are constituted as subjects:
the different modes by which, in our culture, human beings are made
subjects. My work has dealt with three modes of objectification which
transform human beings into subjects. The first is the modes of inquiry
which try to give themselves the status of the sciences… In the second part
of my work, I have studied the objectivising of the subject in what I shall call
‘dividing practices’ … Finally, I have sought to study – it is my current work
– the way a human being turns him – or herself into a subject. For example, I
have chosen the domain of sexuality… Thus it is not power, but the subject,
that is the general theme of my research (Foucault, 2001c, p. 326-27).
Foucault, like Nietzsche, would have difficulty in accepting any of the accounts
of autonomy presented above. His objection to autonomy is based on a rejection
not only of universal reason or morality, but also of an essential human nature. In
other words, he rejects not only the rational nomos but would claim that the autos
is not independent of the human sciences in which man becomes the subject and
the object of his own investigations. He vigorously opposes the acceptance of
universal moral laws by independent individuals. He prefers to talk instead of
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struggles against the ‘government of individualisation’, struggles that question the
status of the individual:
On the one hand, they assert the right to be different and underline everything
that makes individuals truly individual. On the other hand, they attack
everything that separates the individual, breaks his links with others, splits up
community life, forces the individual back on himself, and ties him to his
own identity in a constraining way (Foucault, 2001c, p. 330).
The self does not deliberate upon and accept laws in an uncontaminated (and
uncontaminating) milieu as proposed by Lankshear. Foucault would argue that the
milieu in which one adopts the mode of rational inquiry is very much implicated in
the development of what is accepted as truth and knowledge. Technologies of the
self were such as to “construct an autos ‘predisposed’ to accept a certain type of
nomos, and a type which can lead to subjection and domination” (Marshall, 1996a,
p. 165). At best the process could be regarded as heteronomous, as the individual
is inducted into the mode of a rational morality based on a concept of universal
reason, in which particular truths are normalised.
Objections to the idea of autonomy are inherent in Foucault’s idea of
‘governmentality’, a term referring to the governance of self and others that
accounts for not only the way in which the discourse is constructed, but also the
way in which individuals construct themselves within such discourse.
Governmentality incorporates what Foucault calls technologies of domination
concerned with defining and controlling the conduct of individuals; and
technologies of self, where the self is implicated in its own governance.
Technologies of domination essentially act on the body and as a result of
surveillance and classification, individuals become objects of knowledge. Foucault
(1977) locates the development of the disciplines through a genealogy of prison
practices and the beginning of individualisation through classification. As these
objective classifications are adopted and accepted, certain knowledge and
behaviours become normalised, and individual identities are constructed. Foucault
refers to the process as a ‘mechanics of power’, which defines how one may have
hold over others’ bodies:
not only so that they may do what one wishes, but so that they may operate as
one wishes, with the techniques, the speed and the efficiency that one
determines. Thus discipline produces subjected and practised bodies, ‘docile’
bodies (Foucault, 1977, p. 138).
In later writings, Foucault (1990) coins the term ‘techniques of self’ to indicate
how we constitute our very identities within the available discourses. The key to
technology of the self is the belief that it is possible to tell the truth about one’s
self. According to Foucault, talking to professionals in a confessional manner
about the body and its desires was seen to reveal the deepest truths about one’s
self. “Spoken in time, to the proper party, and by the person who was both the
bearer of it and the one responsible for it, the truth healed” (Foucault, 1990, p. 67).
He notes in our civilisation no ars erotica, but instead a scientia sexualis, based on
procedures for telling the truth of sex, geared to a form of ‘knowledge-power’. It is
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through the confessional practices that sex has been scientised, with definitions of
what counts as truth, left to experts.
The human sciences form “discursive practices that penetrate and inform the
professions and their accompanying institutions such as medicine, psychiatry,
psychology the law and education” (Marshall, 1995, p. 27). One has not only to
tell the truth in the confession, but to do so within the ‘official’ discourse. “In
speaking this truth, in knowing one’s true self one constructs the experience of sex,
and one reconstructs one’s self by adopting new descriptions and ‘hopefully’ new
practices” (ibid., p. 28). Development of the discourse around sexual relationships
created particular possibilities for notions of ‘desire’ and ‘emotion’. Whether these
concepts constitute part of personal autonomy is immaterial, since the self who
may express desire or feel emotion is acting within the ‘official’ discourse on
sexuality, speaking oneself into a position hardly indicative of an independent
autos.
In the normalising procedures of examination and confession, people are
classified as objects, and the truth about themselves revealed to themselves. In
constituting the subject in these ways, in constructing the very identity of
individuals, modern power produces governable individuals through technologies
of individualisation and normalisation. “According to Foucault the personal search
for autonomy and identity, when mired in humanistic notions of the subject and
liberal talk of rationality and emancipation will only aid and abet such processes”
(Marshall, 1995, p. 32). Thus there is no sovereign individual or transcendental
subject, but “only human beings that have been historically constituted as subjects
in different ways at different times” (M. Peters, 2003, p. 2).
Foucault argues that the construction of the self through the concept of sexuality
functioned to control both the individual and – facilitated by the development of
statistical technology – the whole population, as the beginning of what he calls
‘bio-power’. The concept is located in the development of capitalism, as a means
of achieving “the controlled insertion of bodies into the machinery of production
and the adjustment of the phenomena of population to economic processes”
(Foucault, 1990, p. 141). Bio-power, as a means of maintaining their availability
and their docility, needed the law to operate non violently and to achieve regulation
and control through a process of normalisation.
Individuals developed their particular identity as subjects, in two senses of the
word:
subject to someone else by control and dependence, and tied to his own
identity by a conscience or self-knowledge. Both meanings suggest a form of
power which subjugates and makes subject to (Foucault, 2001c, p. 331).
This notion of ‘subject’ is thus a major stumbling block to the possibility of
personal autonomy. The independent ‘autos’ is no longer possible, since thought
and action cannot be free while the subject is constituted as an object of
knowledge, as an object of the human sciences, or as an object of political control.
One example of such a subject is the ‘rationally autonomous chooser’ (Marshall,
1996b), perpetually responding to manipulation of the economic and social
environment, not only free to choose, but forced to choose. Lyotard notes the
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autonomous chooser is cut off from a shared community form of life and more
liable to be ‘picked off’ by the information systems, consumer products and media,
“through which individual choices increasingly come to be exercised” (Marshall,
1996b, p. 95). The autos then is very much subject to economic and individualistic
interests.
Children too are subject(ed) to a variety of constraints. Not considered as
rational beings, (i.e., not having reached the age of reason) and therefore not
capable of making choices about their own needs or interests, they may be
considered as needing constraint until they become inculcated into the disciplines
and traditional forms of thought (R. Peters, 1966). J. S. Mill’s (1982) principle of
liberty had, a century earlier, promoted a similar paternalism towards ‘children and
persons under age’ whom he saw as ‘manifestly unfit’ to abandon to their own
guidance. Mill’s reach extended to the ‘delirious’, or those “in some state of
excitement or absorption incompatible with the full use of the reflecting faculty”
(p. 166) – deficiencies which justified their being “placed under an education of
restraint, to fit them for future admission to the privileges of freedom” (p. 172). Of
course many adults would pride themselves on the ‘caring’ way they provide
guidance to their children or the respectful tone of their interactions with children,
and would claim that they have a beneficent concern for the child’s emotional
development and the building of self esteem. However, the adult is still very much
imposing the limits, with the child adopting behaviour consistent with preestablished
social norms. What is contestable in this gradual shaping of children’s
subjectivity is not whether they are constrained, but how they are constrained. The
paradox for Marshall is, “Whence then creativity, originality and initiative?”
(1996c, p. 112).
The discursive formation of personal autonomy as an educational aim in such an
environment plays a part not only in the definition of behavioural norms, both for
the subject population and for government agencies; but also in the “construction
of programmes for the normalisation of those in the subject population whose
behaviour fails to conform” (Hindess, 1996, p. 73). The norm of autonomy leaves
us with a self that is “obliged to live its life tied to the project of its own identity”
(Rose, 1991, p. 254). Foucault suggests that man became an object of knowledge
so that he could become subject of his own liberty and his own existence.
Investigations into the nature of ‘man’, and the related study of the evolution of
language were to provide the key to human essence. Instead, says Foucault, “this
famous man, this human nature, this human essence or this essential human feature
was never discovered” (Foucault, 1996, p. 52). What was found instead was an
unconscious which functioned like a language, which had absolutely nothing to do
with what one could expect of the human essence, of freedom or human existence.
‘Man’ had disappeared.
There being no essential humanity, Foucault cannot entertain the concept of an
autos as an independent being capable of adopting a nomos, rational or otherwise.
Whether one believes autonomy to require a rational moral position (e.g., Barrow),
merely a rational one (e.g., Dearden), or some other version (e.g., Walker or
Sartre); Foucault’s notion of governmentality suggests that the search for
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autonomy is not an uncontaminated choice, but as one political philosopher
suggests, a perpetual search:
In the institutions, discourses, and practices of the human sciences,
individuals are constituted as the particular objects that have a dynamic of
subjectivity. They are built so that they must be constantly in search of
themselves and, ironically enough, so that they perpetually fail the criteria set
for them and thus need ceaseless effort and re-examination, re-immersion in
that which forms them (Gruber, 1989, p. 617).
The utilitarian notion of autonomy advanced by Barrow is reliant upon a
universal morality, one that everyone would have to submit to – a prospect
Foucault deems “catastrophic” (1996, p. 473). In Nietzschean style, Foucault
eschews the notion of a universal morality, expressing doubt about the origin of
any universal reason. In explaining the process of genealogy, Foucault claims that
the history of reason and the precision of scientific methods arose from “the
passion of scholars, their reciprocal hatred, their fanatical and unending
discussions, and their spirit of competition – the personal conflicts that slowly
forged the weapons of reason” (Foucault, 1984d, p. 78). Enlightenment notions of
autonomy based on such reason can have no a priori position for Foucault. He
sees the rule of law not as progress towards enlightened reason, but as a
replacement for warfare, as “humanity installs each of its violences in a system of
rules and thus proceeds from domination to domination” (ibid., p. 151).
For Foucault, there is no universal truth and no totalising theory, but rather a set
of mechanisms for the production of truth, a process for legitimating certain claims
to truth, and techniques for identifying those who are charged with saying what
counts as true. He describes instead a ‘regime’ of truth, as part of a political
discourse linked to systems of power, and understood as a “system of ordered
procedures for the production, regulation, distribution, circulation and operation of
statements” (Foucault, 1980, p. 133). As an explanation of the way that particular
‘truths’ and ‘knowledges’ become accepted as real, Foucault developed the notion
of ‘power/knowledge’.
Through an examination of the development of prisons, Foucault (1977) tracked
the growth of disciplinary society as a whole, extending his analysis to schools,
factories, barracks and hospitals. Power relations are examined, not from the point
of view of an internal rationality, but by investigating the points of resistance in
everyday life which categorised the individual and constructed the truth about his
identity. It is a form of power which makes individuals subjects. It is in
disciplinary blocks that power/knowledge was developed and is ‘exercised’
according to knowledge which has itself been the product of the exercise of power
(Marshall, 1996a).
Mirroring Nietzsche’s valorisation of the agonistic contest in which one grows
stronger by engaging with worthy opponents, Foucault’s notion of power exists
only where there is a possibility of resistance – not as dialectical opposition, but
through ceaseless struggles at strategic points of local resistance. Criticism is often
levelled at Foucault for appearing to ignore the importance of forms of aggregated
power such as the State, with Poulantzas accusing him of conducting “nothing
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more than a guerrilla war and scattered acts of harassment of power” (Hunt &
Wickham, 1994, p. 18). However, as a means of avoiding Marxist-style
revolution, Foucault offers the possibility of a plurality of resistances. He suggests,
for instance, that from the pathologisation of woman where the “female body
became the medical object par excellence” (Foucault, 1996, p. 218), there emerged
the development of feminism, reinventing the possibilities for political, cultural
and social existence. “Since power marginalises, silences and excludes, the
marginalised, silenced and excluded are always present. We listen to the excluded
voices of resistance” (Hunt & Wickham, 1994, p. 17). Where there is power, there
must (for Foucault) be resistance.
Whether any freedom is to be obtained through a more ‘adequate’ political
strategic resistance will have little to do with any version of autonomy outlined so
far. The individual for Foucault is a fiction fabricated by power:
… power produces; it produces reality; it produces domains of objects and
rituals of truth. The individual and the knowledge that may be gained of him
belong to this production (Foucault, 1977, p. 194).
Foucault’s position then stands in stark contrast to enlightenment notions of
personal autonomy. The autos and the nomos are neither rational nor free. Sartre’s
offering of ‘authenticity’ is undermined by the idea of the self implicated in the
process of subjectification. The production of truth and the exercise of
‘authenticity’ are entwined in the discourse of power, with ‘subjects’ of education
bound to the production of purportedly ‘free’ selves.
Foucault’s dual perspective on subjectivity is clear in the Latin derivation of the
word ‘subject’, stemming from the word iacere – to throw or toss, and the prefix
sub – meaning under. One ‘throws oneself under’ a particular regime at the same
time as one ‘is thrown under’ – simultaneously an active and a passive process.
For Nietzsche, ‘going under’ was a necessary but only preparatory step in the
Übermenschlich trajectory (Z I, Prologue §4), in which one might throw oneself
over rather than under – ‘superject’ rather than ‘subject’ perhaps, although the
terms are less important than what they signify. What is important here is the
upward trajectory as the driving force in life – to ‘throw over’ or go above,
although there is also room for the sense of ‘overthrow’ of adversarial forces
implicated in the Nietzschean process of becoming.
A Foucauldian analysis destabilises autonomy and rationality as the essence of
human ‘nature’, and offers instead as a means to proceed, the possibility of a
plurality of resistances. Foucault extends Nietzsche’s critique of modernity in his
deconstruction of the autonomous individual reconstituted in his notion of
‘subjectivity’ For Nietzsche, there is no ‘being’ behind the ‘doing’ – ‘the doer’ is
“merely a fiction added to the deed” (GM I §13). Similarly, for Foucault, there is
no subject, but a “production of subjectivity: subjectivity has to be produced when
its time arrives, precisely because there is no subject” (Deleuze, 1995, p. 113).
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MECHANISMS OF SUBJECTIVITY
Without adopting a deterministic view and even allowing for a ‘plurality of
resistances’, it is argued here that social and political conditions impact on the
parameters within which subjectivity takes shape. In the latter part of the twentieth
century, economic and social policy in Western societies – under such banners as
Thatcherism, Reagonomics, or the New Zealand equivalent, Rogernomics – has
been underpinned by a regime of neoliberalism – a form of market liberalism,
promoting competitive individualism with a corresponding de-emphasis on social
cohesiveness51.
Neoliberal government policy advocates a minimal level of state service
provision, celebrating a society in which “free individuals pursue their own
interests in the marketplace according to agreed rules of conduct, and thereby
maximise the use of information and resources to the benefit of the community as a
whole” (Upton, 1987, p. 21) . Although posing as a traditional liberal ideal, such a
regime represents “market liberalisation, corporatisation and privatisation of state
businesses, taxation reform which favour[s] the rich, and reductions of free
services from the welfare state” (Easton, 1993, p. 149). The economic argument
for the reforms is that the privatised, competitive market structure will produce
more efficient economic performance. However, the international neoliberal
discourse (see Haworth, 1994) that underpinned New Zealand’s programme of
structural adjustment has been the target of severe criticism. Kelsey, for example
documents the evangelical fervour of the New Zealand Experiment, describing the
results of economic fundamentalism in terms of the economic, social, democratic
and cultural deficits in which the market was left to “reconcile competing
efficiency and equity outcomes, and the State retreated towards providing a
minimal safety net” (1995, p. 207).
As economic reality for most people has made it increasingly harder to sustain
credibility in government promises of a better society under the rationale of the
market, the programme of structural adjustment has demanded a new explanation.
More recently, neoliberal regimes have ostensibly undergone a ‘softening’ of focus
with a revival of emphasis on such terms as ‘civil society’, ‘family’ and
‘community’ as motivations for intensification of individual effort. Rather than
labouring the promise of the economic benefits to society, a new wave of neoconservative
fundamentalism has sprung up in politics and philosophy, espousing
the moral benefits of a new civil society in terms of reducing dependence on the
welfare system through self reliance and local philanthropy. Green’s (1996)
guiding metaphor is the unpoliticised community, in which individuals work
towards the common good, building on their strength and skills, as they seek
solutions to shared problems. Despite the humanitarian and social appeal of such
normative concepts, however, the notion of subjectivity reveals an intensification
of government at the level of the individual citizen.
51 Acknowledged but not detailed here is a large volume of critique of neoliberal rationality and its
effect on society and education; see for example: Haworth (1994); Wilkinson (1995); Marginson
(1997); or for a more extended treatment, Chapters 4, 5 & 6 in Peters & Marshall (1996); Chapters 1
– 6 in Peters & Roberts (1999).
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One of the most outspoken advocates for the new form of subjectivity is British
sociologist, Anthony Giddens, with his theorising of what has become known as
the “third way” (Giddens, 1998). Acknowledging the stultifying effects of old
socialism, and turning his back on the paradigm of the unregulated market,
Giddens envisages a society:
more egalitarian than it is today, but which is meritocratic and pluralistic;
where the devolution of government is further advanced, but within a unitary
nation; which is marked by a deepening environmental consciousness; and
where there is a restoration of the public sphere and public power (Giddens,
2002, p. 38).
It is, he suggests, a ‘third way’ in the sense that it is an attempt to transcend both
old-style social democracy and neoliberalism, in which the State, the economy and
civil society are in balance – an equilibrium that might have found favour with
Adam Smith. Such a balance involves the public sector “collaborating with nonstate
agencies, including non-profit organizations, third sector groups and private
companies” (Giddens, 2002, p. 79)
English Prime Minister, Tony Blair, describes the ‘third way’ as “a rediscovery
of our essential values – the belief in community, opportunity and responsibility”
(Callinicos, 2001, p. 45). Such an interpretation is in line with a modernised view
of development as synonymous with an expansion of personal freedom (Sen, 1999)
– a view that involves a ‘deep complementarity’ between individual agency and
social arrangements, in which individuals are seen as “active agents of change,
rather than as passive recipients of dispensed benefits” (Sen, 1999, p. xiii). Such a
view contrasts sharply with a common view of development, reported regularly in
daily newspapers and economic journals, as growth in gross national product, rise
in personal incomes, increased industrialization, technological advance or social
modernization.
In New Zealand, the current government focus on values such as equality, social
solidarity, community and social justice is, in effect, a furtherance of ‘third way’
direction, although in 2001, Steve Maharey, Minister of Social Development,
announced a preference for the less exotic term, “new social democracy” (Kelsey,
2002, p. 79). Integral to the New Zealand context is the idea of civil society, in
which individuals are redefined as being morally and financially responsible for
their own welfare, education and health (Bolger, 1995a; 1995b). Government
strategy has been to devolve responsibility for state welfare to local communities,
especially Not-for-Profit organisations, sometimes referred to as the third sector, or
the ‘shadow state’ (Wolch, 1990).
The New Zealand Government is currently following the British lead in
establishing a ‘Charities Commission’ as a “registration, reporting and monitoring
system for charitable societies, institutions and trusts” (Ministry of Economic
Development, 2004). The new legislation is expressly intended to: increase the
charitable sector’s accountability and transparency; provide the Government with
information on who benefits from tax assistance; and, “aid the Government with
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social policy development” (ibid.). In Britain, a “compliance campaign”52 has also
been introduced to ensure adherence to reporting schedules, including a section on
‘How we can help you to meet our requirements’. One of the ‘helpful’ methods is
to publish a blacklist with full details of ‘persistent defaulters’ on a publicly
accessible website. The UK Commission is also drafting ‘guidelines’ (which tend
to very quickly become ‘regulations’) for the recruitment, selection and
appointment of Trustees. It is clear, then, that the operation of charities and the
voluntary sector is fast becoming an unashamedly explicit instrument of
government social policy rather than an historical alternative to it53.
The harnessing of voluntarism both supports and is supported by the social and
economic reforms set in place in New Zealand since 1984, amplified in the ‘third
way’ discourse. A significant feature of the new discourse is a decreasing reliance
on government provision of welfare, the emergence of the notion of ‘social
capital’54, an increased focus on partnership between government agencies and the
community, and an increased role for voluntary organisations – albeit under tighter
government surveillance. Self-reliance is encouraged through the rhetoric of
individual liberty and community, a process which the current examination of
subjectivity exposes as an intensification of moral regulation, underpinned by the
rhetoric of personal freedom and social progress. Of particular ethical concern is
the appropriation to a particular political purpose of centuries-old traditions of
communal life and the belief in autonomous agency, which motivate individual
participation in society.
A similar pattern is evident in Dean’s (1991) genealogy of liberal governance, in
which the constitution of poverty is portrayed as a product of intentional
government practices to maintain a class of wage labourers for early industrial
capitalism. To ensure that the population did not outgrow the food supply, the
need for subsistence was portrayed as a God-given biological law, a moral
imperative, supported by the church, with salvation tied to disciplined conduct,
procreative prudence and unremitting exertion. Early nineteenth century
pauperism became associated with moral and physical contagion, with epidemics
and mental and physical disease, with political disturbances and crimes, with the
demoralisation of the labouring classes, criminality and political upheaval.
By addressing religious and moral arguments about public poor relief, Malthus’s
(1993) ‘principle of population’ provided theological justification for denying a
52 See (http://www.charity-commission.gov.uk/investigations/compliance.asp).
53 Smith and Lipsky (1993) argue that non-profit organisations are important to our concept of
community and citizen empowerment because they represent the efforts of people to take collective
action outside the umbrella of government. Increasing convergence with the norms and practices of
government organisations represents a significant challenge to minority interests often represented
by the non-profit sector.
54 The term ‘social capital’ is as much a politico-economic device as a norm of sociability. It has been
defined variously in terms of: ‘spontaneous sociability’, trust and strong cooperation between state,
community, and family (Fukuyama, 1995); ‘social cohesion’ and ‘responsibility’ (Department of
Social Welfare, 1998); and what Bellah, et al. (1985) call 'habits of the heart'. Former New Zealand
Prime Minister, Jim Bolger, goes as far as to describe social capital as the “sum of all that’s good in
society” (1998, p. 259). A common aspect is the reliance on voluntary effort for what were formerly
government responsibilities.
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public system of relief, claiming that poverty provides incentives for sobriety and
industry, and that the provision of relief would attack the moral character of the
poor. The Malthusian strategy was one of moral restraint, seeking to construct
adult males as breadwinners, as “rational virtuous beings” (Dean, 1991, p. 82)
responsible for the subsistence of themselves, their wives and their children.
The Malthusian strategy relies on a moralised subjectivity that illuminates much
of the ‘third way’ rhetoric of today. One way to understand how the poor came to
be responsible for their standard of living, is through Foucault’s notion of
governmentality – the process by which the individual becomes the subject and the
object of its own domination. In this view, the external constraint of ‘police’ was
translated into an internal constraint upon the conduct of the self, resulting in “the
formation of subjects who were prepared to take responsibility for their actions and
for whom the ethic of discipline was part of their very mental fabric” (Rose, 1991,
p. 223).
The valorised notion of ‘family’ is also implicated in the subjugation.
Acknowledging a considerable debt to Foucault’s notion of ‘policing’, Donzelot
(1979) examines the role of philanthropy, education, psychiatry and social work in
the control and the definition of family life, showing how the State acts to
strengthen and increase its own power, by obtaining an optimum number of
workers at minimum public expense. He tracks the transition of government of
families, to government through the family. Self-government is promoted through
an intensification of family life, through psychoanalytic modes of self-regulation,
and through surveillance of the family around children’s education. Donzelot
identifies the beginnings of what we would recognise as ‘the family’ in the second
half of the nineteenth century. “In practice, the woman was brought out of the
convent so that she would bring the man out of the cabaret; for this she was given a
weapon – housing – and told how to use it: keep strangers out so as to bring the
husband and especially the children in” (Donzelot, 1979, p. 40). The promotion of
hygiene and welfare could only be successful through the active engagement of
individuals, with the family operating as a “voluntary and responsible machine for
the rearing and moralising of children, in which adults would commit themselves
to the task of promoting the physical and mental welfare of their offspring” (Rose,
1991, p. 130).
Through philanthropy, the model of bourgeois family behaviour was transmitted
to the poorer classes. The purpose was to moralise behaviour through family life;
promoting savings, education and counselling in a deliberately depoliticising
“mission of domination, pacification and social integration” (Donzelot, 1979, p.
32). This was the mode in which the individual became the responsible
autonomous subject of family, and is suggested as an analogy to explain how
individuals are now being asked to take on the governing metaphor of a nonpolitical
community, based on “mutual respect and responsibility, and a willingness
to shoulder burdens for the common good” (Green, 1996, p. 198). Community
education, community welfare and community health organisations are all in place
to lend some philanthropic ‘assistance’, should the community subject not shoulder
enough of that burden.
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One way in which individuals are being constructed as inadequate in terms of
community morality is through the notion of dependency, a term that captures the
disabled, the sick, addicts, neurotics and children. The psychologised notion of
welfare dependency moves the welfare recipient into the Foucauldian realm of
Donzelot’s psy specialists, as either pathological or infantilised, to be cured or
treated like a child. Either way, the welfare recipient is judged – within the
“rhetoric of pauperism’ (Fraser & Gordon, 1994, p. 328) – as morally
irresponsible.
From a perspective of social concern, Kelsey (2002) argues that ‘third way’
does little to address the earlier critique she levelled at neoliberalism and is, in fact,
a political project whose objective is short-term political management, rather than
any real social transformation, resulting in “a more deeply embedded form of
neoliberalism” (p. 50)55 . She argues, too, that the ‘third way’ remains firmly
centred on the individual, and that these new ‘third way’ elements are merely
grafted onto the old fundamentals of fiscal austerity, privatisation, free trade,
labour market deregulation, foreign investment and deregulation. The result is a
policy agenda which sees “the rich and powerful speculating on how to improve
the lot of the poor through promoting their self-help and organisation without
questioning the sources of their economic disadvantage” (p. 114).
Callinicos (2001) identifies three main strands in ‘third way’ ethics: community,
equality, and a focus on international relationships – the last of which is extended
to give nations an ethical right (obligation even) to interfere in foreign politics
under the guise of humanitarian intervention. He argues, too, that nations that have
adopted a ‘third way’ approach still operate within a system of international
capitalism, and that the model is still essentially an economic one that does little to
protect the interests of minorities – “an ideological façade behind which capitalism
continues on its brutal and destructive way” (Callinicos, 2001, p. 120).
Just as the individual is constituted as a subject of the family, it is argued here
that the idea of community is a rhetorical banner under which we are transformed
into ‘community subjects’. With the language of participation, partnership,
consensus and empowerment, aspirations to ‘community’ might be considered free
from an obvious patriarchy, and thus outside feminist critiques of the patriarchal
family. In expansive mode, the liberal community presents itself as open to all
through such normative constructions as democratic participation, evoking images
of belonging and offering promises of participation in an inclusive society that the
neoliberal reforms of the welfare state have all but destroyed.
55 Kelsey is critical of a number of aspects:
the massive redistribution of wealth and the vulnerability of a national economy dominated
by private, largely foreign and speculative capital; the withdrawal of the State’s commitment
to maintain genuine full employment; the growth in highly exploitive low-skilled and
casualised employment; the further marginalisation and impoverishment of Maori; the
reallocation of the tax burden onto workers and the poor; the insecurity of affordable access
to essentials like electricity and water, the deterioration of the public service infrastructure; a
legal and institutional framework designed to give the market priority; the political
ascendance of capital over citizens; and much more (Kelsey, 2002, pp. 51-2).
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There are, however, various identifiable conceptions of community, such as: the
face to face group; pockets of kinship or proximity; a ‘just’ distribution of
resources; the antithesis of ‘the market’; a collection of social work agencies; a set
of altruistic relationships; a cost saving mechanism for rationing scarce resources;
and, a way of overcoming the crisis of the welfare state (Peters & Marshall, 1996).
Given the philosophical differences that underlie the various constructions of
community and the difference in political perspectives implied in such diversity,
attempts by government to enrol citizens into a unified ‘community’ suggest an
ulterior motive – a mechanism for securing agreement with, and commitment to,
government policy. Notions of family and community serve as a mediating agency
for government so that voluntarism might appear as not compulsory. Rather than
being enforced via policing or dispensed through welfare, government-directed
change is desired – a rather Orwellian picture in which neither negative obedience
nor abject submission will do: “When finally you surrender to us, it must be of
your own free will” (Orwell, 1989, p. 267).
Through community, through family and through ‘third way’ politics, we are
introduced to a more individually responsibilised form of neoliberal subjectivity –
one in which the discourse of ‘community’ is normalised. With ‘community’ as an
essentially contested concept, however, its affirmation as an international value is
interpretable as “a ‘caring’ veneer pasted over the relentless commodification of
the world that is the inner truth of the Third Way” (Callinicos, 2001, p. 65).
The ‘third way’ then does not liberate us from the Foucauldian critique of
autonomy or from the socio-cultural critique of neoliberalism. It is interpreted here
as a form of governmentality that acts to intensify capitalism. With socialism and
unrestrained markets also leaving much to be desired, hopes for a better world
usually turn to talk of democracy. However, democracy is not a panacea for all
social ills and no call is made here for a nostalgic return to a warm and mythical
social bosom. As the next chapter argues, a Nietzschean interpretation of
democracy (as we know it) suggests that it, too, is insufficient as a basis for
educational ethics.
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NIETZSCHE, DEMOCRACY AND EDUCATION
THE POLITICS OF DEMOCRACY
It is tempting to link the word ‘democracy’ with images of free speech, social
justice and an inclusive form of government. However, ‘democracy’ is not merely
a descriptive term. It has been used to justify a variety of competing ideologies,
ranging from the ‘thin’ democracy of classical liberal politics to strong calls for
equality, communal citizenship, political commitment and collective action.
Although its meaning is widely contested, what underpins the various notions of
democracy is an egalitarian concern for human dignity based on the inherent value
of reason. Rational argument is held up as the basis of ethical and political debate.
In the light of Nietzsche’s critique of enlightenment rationality and his genealogy
of morality, this chapter examines some prevalent accounts of democracy and
problematises its relation to education. Any normative account of democracy that
Nietzsche had in mind was, and obviously still is, something “yet to come” (WS
§293).
Kant’s rejection of divine intervention and non-rational authority as an ethical
source, along with Schopenhauer’s subsequent challenge to universal reason,
provided fertile ground for Nietzsche’s ensuing interrogation of his religious
upbringing, his rejection of conformity and his hostility towards domination by the
State. While Nietzsche’s ideas developed through a period of idealism in German
philosophy, there was a general progressive trend throughout Western Society
towards socialism and industrialisation. The social and cultural milieu featured a
nationalistic fervour in politics, epitomised by Bismarck’s unification of nineteenth
century Germany and military dominance as an assertion of German culture in
Europe.
Nietzsche was bitter about the negative focus and the transcendental character of
the dialectic in Hegel’s deification of the ‘absolute’, enshrined in the promotion of
the State as the ultimate good. In Hegelian terms, societal change was interpreted
as evolutionary improvement, with human nature as a model of incremental and
historical progress. The intensification of the State impinged on the expression of
personal freedom at the heart of Nietzsche’s will to power. Throughout the
nineteenth century, Germany opposed radical intellectual movements, removed
dissenting intellectuals from universities, burned offending books, and promoted a
powerful state under Bismarck’s rule of ‘blood and iron’. Marxism was
popularised as a form of social philosophy, further eroding the possibility of a
resurgence of individualism. The ‘Age of Progress’ was, for Nietzsche, anything
but. Instead, he saw nineteenth century society as a stultifying and negative
environment for the development of culture and the genius. His engagement with
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both his philosophical predecessors and his political contemporaries leads Small
(2001) to argue that Nietzsche’s original style of writing was more than a
meandering commentary; constituting, in fact, a radical revaluation of nineteenth
century thought grounded in the social context of his time.
Although a generous reading of Nietzsche (e.g., Sassone 1996) might provide
support for some aspects of democratic freedom, Nietzsche’s philosophy is more
usually seen as a sustained critique of the rational basis of Western thought and an
attack on egalitarian concern for human dignity. Any sense of moral obligation or
social justice arising from egalitarian concern was seen as a levelling device that
snuffed out the light of individual genius, thus preventing the development of ‘true’
culture. For Nietzsche, socialism and communism were patterns of collectivist
decadence and social control – the antithesis of individual responsibility and an
obstacle to personal brilliance. Such systems valued the collective good of society
over any individual member, and prevented the emergence of the highest types that
carried Nietzsche’s hopes for future humanity.
Although the twentieth century has seen to a large extent the demise of socialist
and communist regimes throughout Europe, Nietzsche’s social critique still applies
today in relation to the constraints of democracy on the expression of individuality.
In spite of the promise of freedom, liberal democracy represents a subjection to the
transcendental world of reason and an abdication of individual responsibility to a
wider group. For Nietzsche, ethical responsibility resided in knowing one’s own
traditions, overcoming the nihilism of modernity at an individual level and
asserting one’s own creative definitions of life.
CONSTRUCTIONS OF DEMOCRACY
‘Liberty’, ‘equality’ and ‘fraternity’ were the catchwords of the French revolution
that became the cornerstones of Western democracy, although the particular mix of
the three allows for volumes of difference in the resulting politics. The libertarian
for example might argue for equal access and freedom from constraint for
individuals as a means of achieving a balanced community, while the social
democrat would argue for stronger government and more constraint in an attempt
to achieve equality of outcomes. Commitment to a particular political perspective
goes further than the level of argument; it extends to vocabulary, where terms like
‘community’, ‘equality’, ‘freedom’ and even the term ‘democratic’, are
appropriated according to the perspectives of their speakers. In spite of differences
though, it is possible to delineate a few edges of the territory marked out by the
word ‘democracy’. In its ideals, democracy would not support unwarranted social
superiority. Equally, it would not allow for extreme versions of totalitarian
government or communism. The difficulty lies in securing agreement over what is
generally accepted to be inside the boundaries of democracy.
Stanley Benn and Richard Peters (1959) brought together the disciplines of
political studies and educational philosophy in an early investigation into the
relationship between what is implied in ‘being reasonable’ and the principles and
institutions of the democratic state. The two authors critique a number of popular
epithets that attempt to encapsulate what democracy means. Among these are such
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notions as ‘majority rule’, ‘sovereignty of the people’, ‘the will of the people’,
‘unified will’, ‘freedom to associate’, and a more utopian ‘government by persons
freely chosen by and responsible to the governed’. Although they find each
descriptively ambiguous and inadequate as a definition, they suggest the term may
still have “prescriptive force in the different contexts in which it is used” (Benn &
Peters, 1959, p. 332).
Democracy, they say, is not merely a set of political institutions like universal
suffrage, parliamentary government or majority vote, but also a set of operational
principles that make reasons public and allow for public participation in protest and
decision-making. Peters and Benn see these ideas as compatible with the
principles of impartiality and respect for persons as sources of claims and
arguments; principles which underlie political ideals like justice, liberty and
equality. Democracy, they argue, is a way of coming to terms with the need for
authority while maintaining a sense of individual responsibility.
Harking back to Locke’s theory of natural rights, Benn & Peters argue that the
justification of democracy lies in two aspects: firstly, that every person must be
respected as a source of claims, and must not be treated as a mere instrument; and
secondly, that all interests must be rationally justified and weighed impartially.
Their justification of democracy lies then, not in a ‘tyranny of the majority’, but in
conferring on every individual “the opportunity to voice a claim which no
government could afford to ignore” (1959, p. 350). The giving of reasons is a key
factor in this definition of democracy, with government conducted in an
atmosphere of criticism and discussion. To prevent discussion degenerating into
mere abuse, freedom of discussion must also be accompanied by a minimal respect
for each person as a source of arguments.
In a more recent analysis, Held (1996) identifies several constructions of
democracy: the classical idea of democracy in ancient Athens; the republican
conception of a self-governing community; liberal democracy; and the Marxist
conception of direct democracy. He also examines in detail four twentieth-century
models: competitive elitist democracy, pluralism, legal democracy and
participatory democracy; four models56 which he considers to be of central
importance to political debate. Although the term ‘democracy’ serves a
legitimating role for political and social life, the nature of democracy is
fundamentally contested both as an idea and as a political reality. Also contested
are many of the key terms of democracy, such as the proper meaning of ‘political
participation’, the idea of choosing freely between political alternatives, and the
nature of membership in a democratic community.
Simplistic definitions draw upon the root meanings of the word: demos (people)
and kratos (rule) – signifying a form of government in which the people rule. This
implies some form of political community involving equality among the people.
Opinion differs though over what constitutes ‘the people’, and what is meant by
‘rule’. Continuing the proliferation of interpretations, Held (1996) identifies seven
distinct conceptions of what ‘rule by the people’ means, ranging from active
56 The current chapter does not specifically focus on the structure that Held proposes, although many
aspects of his models are covered in the various constructions of democracy. Of significance here is
not Held’s depiction per se, but the variety of perspectives available.
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involvement in governmental administration to the idea of representation in which
the rulers should act in the interests of the people. According to Held, democracy
offers – in theory at least – fair and just ways of negotiating values and value
disputes. It is, he claims, “the only ‘grand’ or ‘meta-’ narrative that can
legitimately frame and delimit the competing ‘narratives’ of the contemporary age”
(Held, 1996, p. 298). Democracy is seen as important not as just one value among
many, such as liberty, equality or justice; but as the value that can mediate among
different normative concerns. Held argues that democracy does not presuppose a
synthesis of diverse values, but rather a means of keeping value conflicts open and
as a basis for tolerating and negotiating difference. Contrary to Held’s vision, this
chapter argues that the extent of diversity is limited by the commonality of values
that defines democratic society and culture.
In examining the meaning of democracy or comparing various democratic
models, it is important to differentiate between descriptive or explanatory
statements and those that have a normative function (Held, 1996); that is, between
statements about how things are and why they are so, and statements about how
things ought to be. It is also worth noting that attempts at defining or promoting
democracy in particular ways usually reflect particular political commitments,
whether intentional or not.
The practice of democracy draws on the tradition of classical Greek thought,
although modern democracy occurs in a vastly different environment from the
polis of ancient Greece. The polis (from which we derive our term ‘politics’) was
a small fortified village, self-governing, with a strong sense of community. To
undertake a life of politics one had to be a free man – a description limited to the
male citizen as head of the household. It excluded wives and slaves who were
bound to the instrumental role of service to the house. It also excluded merchants
because of their commitment to commercial life. Reason and speech (logos) were
the means to free and equal participation in political life. Barbarians therefore
were also considered unworthy since they could not partake in the verbal exchange.
Bringing together the Greek word idios (meaning personal, peculiar, distinct,
separate or private), and our contemporary pejorative term ‘idiot’, Berry (1989)
locates the critique of contemporary individualism within a sphere of ‘idiotic
politics’ – this in contrast to an attitude of sociality and communal participation.
The political community of ancient Greece was a source of identity and value, so it
was by participating in the life of the polis that individuals expressed their
humanity. Berry suggests that failure to participate in politics was to “suffer the
condition of idiocy, which means that a less than fully human life is being led”
(1989, p. 9).
Democracy in its pure form suggests a system in which all people govern
themselves in all public matters all of the time. Such a form could hardly be
expected to function efficiently in the distributed social world of today with nations
consisting of millions of citizens. Unlike the early Greek polis, where it was
possible for direct participation in political decision-making – for some anyway,
what we have in Western society today is generally described as representative
democracy. A distinction can be drawn between two broad classifications of
representative democracy: firstly, ‘liberal’ or ‘representative’ democracy (a system
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of rule embracing elected ‘officers’ who undertake to ‘represent’ the interests
and/or views of citizens within the framework of ‘the rule of law’); and secondly,
‘direct or ‘participatory’ democracy (a system of decision-making about public
affairs requiring active involvement of citizens).
According to Barber (1984), representative democracy substituted for the pure
principle a definition of democracy as a form of government in which some of the
people, chosen by (arguably) all, govern in all public matters all of the time. This
approach purchased efficiency without sacrificing accountability, but he suggests,
at an enormous cost to participation and to citizenship. The degree of
representation and the subsequent legitimacy of elected government are moderated
considerably by the degree of voter participation. Underpinning liberal democracy
is the Kantian account of autonomous individuals as essentially rational, free to
pursue their own notion of the good life, and deserving respect as ‘ends in
themselves’. As such, they would be free from authoritarianism, living with
authority structures and social institutions that are subject to rational scrutiny.
From a neo-liberal perspective, Strike argues that the central public function of
schooling in a liberal state is the “democratic distribution of rationality” (1982, p.
12), with good pedagogy determined by the concept of rationality and oriented to
the promotion of rational autonomy. Within this perspective, justice is defined as
equal opportunity rather than equal outcome, family is seen as neutral and natural
in the opportunity stakes, and the market is left to mediate any extremes of wealth
and poverty. Such thinking echoes the philosophy of Hayek (1971; 1978) that has
underpinned the political direction of Western economies for the last two decades.
In this view, education has gradually been subsumed under the general rubric of
economics, and it is now common for education to be evaluated in terms of its
return on investment (Office of the New Zealand Associate Minister of Education,
2002) and to be justified in terms of its instrumental contribution to the economy.
A marketised approach to education is criticised by Marshall (1995) for its redefinition
of persons as ‘rational autonomous choosers’ amid consumerist and
market approaches to education.
Critiques of liberal and neo-liberal democracy point to the absence of any firm
theory of citizenship, participation, public goods or civic virtue, and expose it as
based on the advancement of individualistic and private ends. Barber (1984), for
example, argues that the language and imagery of liberalism reflects the Newtonian
atomistic view emanating from Hobbes, Locke, Hume, Bentham, Mill and Nozick.
As such, it reflects the physical cosmos of the scientists: the human world
inhabited by units, particles and atoms; rather than the traditional teleological,
psychic, and spiritual understandings of the essence of humanity:
With a vocabulary of such materiality, liberal theory cannot be expected to
give an adequate account of human interdependency, mutualism, cooperation,
fellowship, fraternity, community and citizenship (Barber, 1984, p. 35).
Because of such social shortcomings, Barber depicts liberal government as a
thin form of democracy, deficient in the pleasures of communal participation and
in the commitment to a shared politics. It is, he argues, a politics of static interest,
never a politics of transformation (Barber, 1984, p. 24).
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Contrasted with the thin democracy of liberal government is a notion of strong
democracy that advocates a more comprehensive commitment to citizenship,
participation and political community. Strong democracy is a call for political
involvement in everyday decisions that affect our lives. It is concerned to “expand
our understanding of what counts as democratic … both the impulse towards
liberty, property, and privacy… and the impulse towards equality, participation,
and communal citizenship” (Barber, 1984, p. xiv). It represents an attempt to
revitalise citizenship while still promoting efficient government. Examples of such
involvement fall within what might be called “deliberative democracy”
(Crittenden, 2002, p. 192) and include intensification of the use of such
mechanisms as polls, referenda, petitions, multi-choice ballots and citizen
initiatives, where dialogue and deliberation are more important than the mere
casting of a vote.
Berry (1989) does not want the language of liberalism disparaged by the worst
aspects of competitive individualism – which he associates more with capitalism.
There is no necessary connection, Berry claims, between liberal values and
capitalist practices in which the individual sees himself unrestrained by society.
Rather, he argues, the central ethical principle of liberalism – the freedom of the
individual to realise his or her human capacities is more likely to reach fruition in a
socialist rather than a capitalist society. Introducing a stronger focus on the social,
Berry advances the idea of ‘democratic community’ and draws upon Walzer’s
vision of:
a strong welfare state run, in part at least, by local and amateur officials; a
constrained market; an open and demystified civil service; independent
public schools; the sharing of hard work and free time; the protection of
religious and familial life; a system of public honoring and dishonoring free
from all considerations of rank or class; workers’ control of companies and
factories; a politics of parties, movements, meetings, and public debate
(Berry, 1989, p. x).
In practice then, democracy usually involves some form of popular power in
which people are engaged in self-government and self-regulation, usually
involving representatives voted into power. Democracy is legitimated by the
promotion of various ethical and political positions such as political equality,
liberty, moral self-development, common interest and social utility. Its proponents
suggest that through rational deliberation it provides a fair compromise in the
satisfaction of wants, and that it serves as an efficient vehicle for making decisions
that take various interests into account.
DEMOCRACY AND EDUCATION
Democracy, like liberalism, draws upon the need for a dignified acceptance of
individual points of view, and on the sense of community implied by a coming
together of those views. Because of the huge political work conducted under the
banner of a word like ‘democracy’, it is easy for liberalism and democracy to be
conflated. For the purposes of this argument, Nietzsche’s critique is portrayed as
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two separate (but related) issues. On the one hand is his critique of the rational
individual at the heart of liberalism and the resulting reliance on reason as the
ground for ethics. From this rational essence emanated the Kantian idea of
autonomy and the liberal predilection to be free from unnecessary constraint in the
exercising of a democratic ‘voice’. On the other hand, is Nietzsche’s abhorrence at
the idea that human dignity (stemming from a rational essence) accords equally to
all and so all should have a say in the affairs of government. Before moving to
Nietzsche’s critique, however, it is useful to examine how democratic notions are
applied to the field of education.
A defining moment for philosophy of education in Britain was the publication of
Richard Peters’ (1966) treatise, Ethics and Education, that drew together the
Kantian idea of rational autonomy and the political process of democracy. He
provides three interpretations of the nexus between democracy and education – all
of which he sees as relevant and important. First, the democratisation of education
– a process in which education should be available for all and fairly distributed;
and in which teachers should make themselves more effectively into a ‘profession’
with attention to training and a code of ethics. Second, the school can be thought
of as a democratic institution. Although formal authorities are appointed, staff are
to be consulted on certain issues and pupils encouraged to participate in decisionmaking.
This is not to speak against authority, for Peters is a firm believer in
properly constituted (i.e., rational) authority (R. Peters, 1974). Rather, it is a call
for schools to be based on rational discussion. The third interpretation is what
Peters calls education for democracy, involving preparation for participation in
public life and development of the willingness to participate in its institutions.
This is to be promoted through initiation into traditions and rituals in which the
fundamental principles of reason are implicit. Peters sees this as the paradox of
moral education: “the palace of reason has to be entered by the courtyard of habit”
(1966, p. 314). This implies practical peer-group experience of a democratic way
of life, with its emphasis on discussion and the use of reason, and built-in standards
such as those of relevance, consistency and impartiality. The attitudes underlying
this way of life are an overall concern for truth, respect for persons and a feeling of
fraternity for others as persons. The fundamental principles underlying such a life
are those of fairness, tolerance and the consideration of other people’s interests.
Perhaps the most influential American philosophy on democracy and education
was that of John Dewey. He criticised traditional approaches to education as rote
learning or as the imposition of extrinsic truths on inert learners. He argued instead
for a close link between education and meaningful experience, defining education
as “that reconstruction or reorganisation of experience which adds to the meaning
of experience, and which increases ability to direct the course of subsequent
experience” (Dewey, 1916, p. 76). This implies a shaping and directing of
experiences for learners. It also implies a notion of continuing education and the
ongoing capacity for growth. This idea could only be applied to members of a
society where there was a free exchange of ideas, and “adequate provision for the
reconstruction of social habits and institutions by means of wide stimulation arising
from equitably distributed interests” (1916, p. 100). For Dewey, this meant a
democratic society.
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His advocacy of a democratic approach to education is in parallel with his
‘pragmatic’ view of learning as constructing hypotheses and then testing them in
practice. Dewey claimed that the experimental method was not limited to technical
matters but “holds equally to the forming and testing of ideas in social and moral
matters” (1916, p. 339). Dewey’s ‘democratic ideal’ in education involves the
sharing of common interests, and free interaction and subsequent readjustments
between social groups. A democracy, he suggests, is more than a form of
government; it is primarily a mode of associated living, of ‘conjoint communicated
experience’. In this sense, democracy mirrors the process of science with tentative
conclusions put to the test through social living and rational debate, and
subsequently accepted or reworked as necessary.
By way of clarification, Dewey provides a number of contrasts for his
democratic conception of education. First, he points to the Platonic model of
education involving a teleological ideal (the ultimate good), a model he criticised
for its stratifying effect on society. Second, he outlines the individualist ideal of
the eighteenth century: one that promoted the free development of individuality, an
interest in social progress, the ideal of a cosmopolitan humanity, and a faith in
nature and the natural sciences. His third contrast is with the nineteenth century
rise in nationalism and the subordination of individuals to the superior interests of
the State, a situation in which the aim of education was the formation of the
‘citizen’ rather than the ‘man’.
For Dewey, education is a social process, with the value of a group’s social life
measured in two ways: first, by the extent to which the interests of a group are
shared by all its members; and second, by the fullness and freedom with which the
group interacts with other groups. Such a ‘good life’ requires a democratic society,
involving free intercourse and communication of experience, participation by all
members on equal terms, and institutions flexible enough to readjust to changing
circumstances.
Such a society must have a type of education which gives individuals a
personal interest in social relationships and control, and the habits of mind
which secure social changes without introducing disorder” (Dewey, 1916, p.
99).
Although sometimes labelled ‘progressive’ in his formulation of education,
Dewey argued explicitly against what he saw as the worst aspects of progressivism.
He advocated a sound philosophy of experience as the basis for education, with
children undergoing guidance into organised activity. He saw education as a social
process, and argued for the inhibition of impulses through critical reflection. For
Dewey, the “ideal aim of education” was “the power of self control” (1938, p. 64)
– a form of ‘positive freedom’ with one’s immediate responses curtailed for a
noble purpose.
With the benefit of several decades of post-Deweyan contemplation, Gutmann
(1999) is another advocate of a democratic approach to education, an approach that
includes an ideal society empowering citizens to share in the formulation of
educational policy, moderated by the principles of non repression and
nondiscrimination. She sees these principles as preserving the intellectual and
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social foundations of democratic deliberation. Willingness to deliberate, she
argues, distinguishes democratic deliberation from mere self-interest or passive
deferral to external political authority. Ongoing disagreement is, she suggests,
inevitable in any free society, and requires the virtue of mutual respect as a “good
faith effort to find mutually acceptable terms of social cooperation, not merely
terms that are acceptable only to the most powerful, or for that matter to the most
articulate” (Gutmann, 1999, p. xiii).
Her theory of democratic education builds dialectically on existing theories
rather than relying on self-evident logic or faith in a new belief system. With a
typically liberal perspective on the need for diversity, she argues that expanding
commercialism and intensified communication has rendered most societies
increasingly multicultural. As individuals draw upon many cultures in living their
lives, they therefore creatively constitute their identities against a background of
interactive and continually changing cultural resources. Education, she argues,
should acknowledge that cultural diversity and cultivate mutual respect. A
democratic focus should “introduce students to competing perspectives and equip
them to deliberate as equal citizens about why and when it is justifiable to agree to
disagree over an issue (such as religious worship) and when it is morally necessary
to decide collectively on a single substantive policy (such as racial and gender
nondiscrimination)” (Gutmann, 1999, p. 308).
Gutmann’s express goal is ‘conscious social reproduction’, requiring us to
“educate all educable children to be capable of participating in collectively sharing
their society” (1999, p. 39). Rejecting various conceptions of the role of the State
in relation to education57, she theorises a ‘democratic state of education’: a model
in which state, parents and professional educators all have important roles (but no
exclusive rights) in cultivating moral character. Such a state facilitates
participation in democratic politics, promotes choice among (a limited range of)
good lives, and enhances our ability to share in the social groups from which we
form our identity.
Obviously, her version of a democratic state imposes some limits on individual
choice and the proliferation of social norms under the rubric of cultural diversity.
She defends this in two ways: first, children need to develop the character that feels
the force of ‘right reason’ – a revulsion for bigotry, for example; and second, the
good of children includes not just freedom of choice, but also identification with
57 Gutmann (1999) differentiates between three common constructions of the State in relation to
education: the family state as a form of centralised authority in the interests of the social good; the
state of families which places educational authority in the hands of parents; and the state of
individuals as the (neo)liberal championing of opportunity for neutral choice, often at the hands of
‘neutral’ education experts. She finds all three insufficient, however, to work towards her
educational goal of ‘conscious social reproduction’ (p. 39). The family state is too authoritarian and
disallows competing notions of the ‘good’. It attempts to “wed knowledge of the good life with
political power” (p. 42). The state of families relies on exclusive parental authority and is thus likely
to limit social diversity – children, she argues, are no more the property of their parents than they are
the property of the state, and so they must be exposed to ways of life different from their parents.
The state of individuals, based on the notion that children’s learning should be unconstrained by
parental of political authority, is an unliveable ideal for Gutmann, in that it ignores the competing
ends of freedom on the one hand and virtue on the other.
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and participation in the good of their family and the politics of their society. This,
she argues, cannot be imbued without some constraint.
On the basis of the territory exposed so far in this chapter, the plethora of
definitions of the term democracy is unlikely to leave us with an authoritative
account of the relationship between democracy and education or an agreed
settlement on what might be indicated by such phases as educational democracy,
or democratic education. To do so would be to proffer yet another political
position. Instead of seeking an ultimate account of democracy in relation to
education, it is proposed to identify some similarities among the positions
discussed so far, to be so bold as to suggest that these might reveal some of the
assumptions underpinning democratic notions of education, and to suggest a
Nietzschean perspective on such principles and assumptions.
A NIETZSCHEAN CRITIQUE OF DEMOCRACY
The brief outline of Peters’, Dewey’s and Gutmann’s ideas touches on some
significant themes usually explored in attempts to delineate a democratic approach
to education. In general, the formula seems to include a process of initiation into
certain traditions and rituals, a reliance on rational debate and deliberation, a
respect for equality in the interplay between self and social cooperation, a strong
relationship between education and lived experience, and a considerable
presumption of freedom in the exercise of one’s rights and responsibilities.
Although Nietzsche was an avid critic of democracy as he knew it, his
philosophy encompasses some features of democracy in relation to education as
discussed in the previous section. Among these are Peters’ idea that education
should be available for all and that students should be initiated into traditions and
rituals58, although Nietzsche took issue with the fundamental place of reason that
Peters espouses, especially in relation to tradition and ritual. Dewey’s notion of
‘education as growth’ (1916) and the importance of experience (1938) in the
educational process are both in keeping with Nietzsche’s perspective on life,
although Nietzsche downplayed the degree to which the social group should take
precedence. Both Nietzsche and Gutmann reject any passive deferral to external
political authority59, although Gutmann’s advocacy of ‘collective sharing’ in
political and educational decision-making is hardly Nietzschean. However, despite
some apparent overlap between Nietzsche and these more recent thinkers,
‘democracy’, ‘community’, ‘society’ and ‘positive freedom’ constitute the herd
behaviour that Nietzsche decried as a mechanism for individual subjugation, for
the promotion of social utility and for ultimate nihilism.
Although Nietzsche never published a critique of democracy per se, his writing
contains many references to the term – mostly derogatory, while his philosophical
project constitutes a condemnation of its constituent elements. For the purpose of
analysis, these are now treated separately, although from Nietzsche’s perspective,
58 Nietzsche’s early lectures on education were strong on the necessity of being well versed in
tradition, not only as an economic necessity for the State, but also as a grounding for the emergence
of higher types.
59 Nietzsche notes the connection between democracy and independence (WS §293).
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they are closely interwoven and in many respects interdependent in his genealogy
of moral life and his formulation of modern culture as “combating instinct”, and
thus, as a “formula for decadence” (TI, The Problem of Socrates §11).
The first element to be considered concerns the idea of democracy as a metanarrative.
Political attempts to define ‘democracy’ (including those posing as
neutral) usually tend to work towards similar ends – a precise definition of the
term, an analytic account of its constituent elements, and a clear prescription for an
ethical direction. Such attempts presuppose a singular ‘truth’ about democracy
waiting to be revealed through verbal analysis or perhaps through active
participation in a particular type of society. Democracy theorists see diversity less
as a reconciled position than as a means to resolution. Held (1996), for example,
advocates democracy as a means of keeping value conflicts open and negotiating
difference, although his conviction that democracy is the overriding value is itself
not negotiable.
Nietzsche’s ideas about truth render such single solutions problematic.
Breazeale’s (1990) account of Nietzsche’s early notebooks presents ‘truth’ not as
singular certainty, but as ‘lies’ and ‘illusions’, or more gently, as ‘conventional
designations’ useful in facilitating social life, and as giving human form to a hostile
world in order to gain anthropomorphic mastery over life. Although Nietzsche did
not self-consciously and overtly use the term ‘ideology’, his depiction of truth as
metaphor presupposed a critical awareness of what would later become the
sociology of knowledge and of what Foucault would frame up as
‘power/knowledge’. Truth then was not a metaphysical certainty, but useful
illusion that served as a mask for the relations of power.
Convictions are, Nietzsche suggests, “more dangerous enemies of truth than
lies” (HAH I §483). An insistence on objective certainty masks feelings of
weakness, limiting the possibility of agonistic diversity and promoting instead a
single destination. Such closure is anathema for Nietzsche. He advocates instead a
multi-perspectival view, “seeing the world with more and different eyes” (GM III
§12). To posit democracy as a universal solution to political and ethical debate is
to ignore the contested nature of what we call ‘truth’, to take the moral high
ground, and to close down the possibility of new and different perspectives. We
then run the risk, as Connolly (1991) points out, of acquiescing to such strategies
as conquest, conversion, community or tolerance: strategies that impinge upon the
individual freedom that underpins theories of democracy.
A second concern for Nietzsche was the egalitarian view of human nature and
its stultifying effect on the development of culture. From the time of his early
lectures he criticised the way that outstanding people were subjected to the
levelling effect of herd mentality, resulting in a culture based around the lowest
common denominator. Consistent with this is his view of democratism as the
“decaying form of the State” (TI, Expeditions of an Untimely Man §39). Such
contempt for democracy is evident in his formulation of the French Revolution as
the beginning of the “great slave rebellion” (BGE §203); with the democratic
movement responsible for the decay of political organisation and the diminution of
‘man’.
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In its idealised form, the notion of ‘community’ promises equal access and
ethical outcomes for its members, along with some consensus about how to
proceed. It elevates life beyond a competitive struggle for survival and promotes
positive freedom through mutual empowerment of its members. Such egalitarian
concerns usually underpin normative calls for social democracy.
However, the notion of community is value-laden. Following Heidegger’s
reading of Nietzsche, Caputo (1997) deconstructs the idea of ‘community’.
Popular opinion might have it that the term derives from that Latin word for ‘one’
– unus (thus conjuring up a sentimental notion of spiritual ‘one’-ness or ‘unity’).
However, the word ‘community’ does not rely on the secondary stem ‘unity’; but
derives from the Latin munis – a fortification or wall, from which stem we also
derive ‘municipality’ – a town with protective walls to keep the enemy out and to
keep the citizens in. From this source we also derive ‘munitions’, ‘ammunition’,
and ‘immunity’ – all evoking images of violence and the need for protection. With
its genealogy reflecting our violent heritage, the notion of community might more
accurately convey ideas of defensiveness or captivity rather than ‘one’-ness. Thus,
the term might not signify a worthy spiritual and social ideal in an atmosphere of
mutual support, but rather the necessity for fortification through solidarity, and thus
for social cohesion to take precedence over individual aspiration.
Irrespective of whatever truth value such etymology yields, the practice of
community can be seen to limit the exercise of individual freedom. From the
individualist (as opposed to communitarian) perspective, calls for equality in the
name of democratic community can be criticised as a form of social control. The
imposition of a levelling morality acts as a preventative for the emergence of
genius and constitutes the egalitarian focus of Nietzsche’s slave rebellion or what
he called the “herd instinct in the individual” (GS §116). His central objection to
egalitarian movements, drawn from Aristotle, appears to be that they treat people
as equal when they are really not so, an objection obvious in his attack on
Rousseau:
The doctrine of equality! … But there exists no more poisonous poison: for it
seems to be preached by justice itself, while it is the termination of justice…
‘Equality for equal, inequality for unequals’ – that would be the true voice of
justice: and what follows from it, ‘Never make equal what is unequal’ (TI,
Expeditions of an Untimely Man §48).
In contrast, he defends the contributions historically made by aristocratic
societies, particularly the Romans and the Greeks. He admires those who were
prepared to stand against the prevailing social, political and academic milieu, assert
their own power, and rise above the mediocre. He holds the Romantic view that a
strong spirit survives the worst and emerges stronger still, and that only the weak
perish from hardship. It is this model that explains the promotion of great culture,
‘higher types’, and his idea of Übermensch.
… a synthetic, summarising, justifying man for whose existence this
transformation of mankind into a machine is a precondition, as a base on
which he can invent his higher form of being…. He needs the opposition of
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the masses, of the ‘leveled,’ a feeling of distance from them! he stands on
them, he lives off them (WP §866).
Nietzsche’s unpublished note here seems to support a view of Übermensch
arising because of (rather than in spite of) hardship. However, his early eulogy on
Schopenhauer (1974) argues that greatness arising through difficult times may
have been greater still were it not for the unnecessary difficulties and hard times
presented by the pseudo culture of the day.
The third aspect of a Nietzschean critique of democracy concerns the exclusion
of otherness in the democratic process. Since the time of Kant, the human subject
has entertained ethical notions of autonomy through its rational essence. Western
society prides itself on its aspiration to (and arguably its attainment of) liberal
ideals, based on notions of freedom, equality and various notions of community.
Pluralism and tolerance of diversity are values often associated with the theory of
liberalism, although in the practice of liberal democracy, there is closure against
difference and a silencing of the voices that signify plurality.
Michael Peters (1996) labels as neo-conservative the notion of community
advocated by Bloom and Finkelkraut, as they promote a vision of a common
national culture in which all individuals, freed from their ethnic origins, their tribal
histories, and their traditional cultural beliefs, participate in a modern democratic
society. In this view, cultural pluralism and ethnic diversity are seen as a threat to
group identity, group loyalties and group rights. It is, Peters argues, not surprising
that:
modern liberal discourse in its conception of citizenship has systematically
excluded groups historically defined as Other. It has effectively pursued this
end by promoting an idea of civic community that is both homogeneous and
monocultural (M. Peters, 1996, p. 188).
Neo-conservativism can be seen as underpinning the establishment of a market
economy in certain targeted countries, even though such imposition may require
military intervention60. The freethinking individual – the icon of liberal society –
has risen to prominence within a monocultural, universal view of human nature as
rational and free, presenting as autonomous chooser in the market economy and as
responsible voter within national electoral systems. International capitalism and
the use of military muscle to reinforce the installation of market economies
reinforces the dominance of Western political thought and reduces the possibility
of otherness through the eradication of difference. This international marketing of
subjectivity can be seen as preservation of liberal ideals (albeit for ethnocentric
purposes and through often illiberal means).
The social-democratic ideal of universal citizenship, such as that proposed in
‘third way’ endeavours (Giddens, 1998) is an extension of Eurocentric ideals and
has been criticised for failing to recognise and take account of group differences.
Iris Young offers instead a notion of differentiated citizenship as “the best way of
realising the inclusion and participation of everyone in full citizenship” (Young,
60 Regime change was a prime objective of the invasion of Iraq in 2003. The rationale was to institute
democracy as a political system and a ‘free market’ as an economic system.
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1997, p. 257). She argues that universal citizenship involves a trend towards
uniformity and equal treatment, resulting in exclusions and/or homogeneity. She
claims that inclusion or participation of everyone on a fair basis is only possible
under three conditions: firstly, if there are specific mechanisms for group
representation; secondly, if the rule of equal treatment is departed from in specific
cases so as to ensure fair and just treatment, and thirdly, where the articulation of
special rights exists that attend to group differences so as to combat oppression and
disadvantage.
However, Young’s ‘differentiated citizenship’ does not relieve us from the
problems of exclusion, marginalisation and suppression of difference. It merely
relocates them at a different level. Gutmann points out the difference between on
the one hand, publicly recognising cultural differences; and on the other hand,
“recognising collective rights of cultural groups to engage in practices that oppress
anyone, including their own members, in the name of cultural difference” (1999, p.
305). With a conceptual shift from universal to differentiated citizenship, these
same groups may become the oppressor rather than the oppressed. In the same
way that groups are forced to comply with universal norms, individuals must now
comply with group norms. The penalty for non-compliance is to lose one’s
representation in political decision-making. The net effect is that individual
interests may not be best represented through ‘differentiated citizenship’.
Pragmatically of course, we need to impose some order on the world as a means
of making sense of our experience, and education is part of the defining process.
However let us not confuse that with any essential coherence or tendency towards
power sharing in human nature. A plea for sharing the right to oppress is hardly a
philosophical solution to the problem of individual freedom. Differentiated
citizenship is really a political and pragmatic attempt to solve a philosophical
problem.
Liberal democracy excludes otherness in less obvious ways. There are
restrictions on who has a voice in democratic systems – excluded from
participation are those considered not old enough (children), not rational enough
(the ‘insane’) or not moral enough (criminals), evoking an alignment with the
rational autonomy of Kantian morality. Through its exclusionary mechanisms,
liberal democracy is thus reproduced and preserved. From the perspective of
liberalism, the promotion of liberal ideals is both ‘reason’-able and desirable,
although in terms of rational process, it is self-referential. In this respect it shares
some features with blind faith and with indoctrination: faith in reason as a
totalising mechanism needing no external referent; and indoctrination through
limiting the play of other possibilities and perspectives. Admittedly, in theory at
least, liberalism involves toleration and respect for difference, yet its selfpromotion
as a system through the machinery of democracy limits the possibility
of difference, suggesting a form of ethnocentrism under the guise of rational and
purportedly ‘neutral’ deliberation.
The fourth criticism concerns the privileged place of reason in the organisation
of human affairs. Kant is generally credited with having undermined the divine
right of kings through his reliance on reason as a guide to moral thought and
action. Although earlier philosophers (e.g., Locke, Descartes, Voltaire and even
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Plato) had theorised the rational nature of man, such nature was inextricably linked
to a divine realm. Kant diverged from God as the source of all good, with his
conception of rational beings as living in a self-referential “kingdom of ends”
(1988, p. 62) whose laws were the objective principles formulated and accepted by
rational beings. Although Kant refers to this kingdom as ‘only an ideal’, it is the
foundation of his system of morality and the source of human dignity.
Since the time of Kant, the human subject has based its claim to a higher status
and its ownership of a moral dimension on its rational capacity. Reason is
accorded priority status in determining ethical principles, for it is both our rational
capacity as human beings and our ‘religious’ (i.e., non-rational) belief in reason as
transcendental that provide the basis of moral judgment. Kantian philosophy
provided a new universal, beyond contradiction by rational agents and thus a
universal prescription for man. The authority formerly enjoyed by the Christian
‘God’ lived on in the new rational ‘religion’, particularly in Kant’s noumena – the
‘true’ world as a world that cannot be challenged empirically.
The similarity between Kantian rationality and Christian faith, which led
Nietzsche to call Kant a ‘cunning Christian’, is apparent in a number of ways.
First, in Kantian morality, there is a singular conception of reason underpinning the
way we should live our lives. Such singularity used to be reserved for the deity –
the ‘One’. Second, both systems are self-referential: just as God was accountable
to God alone, reason itself is the mechanism for its own examination; leading
either to an infinite regress, or to a ‘leap of faith’ – a non-rational belief in reason.
Third, the elevation of the ethereal realm devalues the embodied world, the sensory
and the instinctual. The biblical ‘heavenly realm’ has been replaced by the faculty
of reason, signifying a move from salvation to enlightenment – or perhaps a
synthesis: salvation through enlightenment.
The rational basis for democracy presupposes the higher order of our rational
capacity in much the same way that religious faith elevates the divine. Nietzsche’s
Twilight of the Idols portrays such elevation as a ‘hostility towards life’, with the
Church waging its ‘war against passion’ through the ‘excision’, ‘castration’ and
‘extirpation’ of such human qualities as sensuality, pride and lust for power. Such
hostility is for Nietzsche necessary for those too weak-willed and too degenerate to
moderate their own desire, those deficient of will, of sovereignty, of strength. By
way of contrast, he offers the joyous image of a free spirit taking such pleasure in
the power of self-determination and celebrating the joy of uncertainty:
the spirit would take leave of all faith and every wish for certainty, being
practiced in maintaining himself on insubstantial ropes and possibilities and
dancing even near abysses. Such a spirit would be the free spirit par
excellence (GS §347).
The fifth criticism relates to Nietzsche’s rejection of a ‘higher’ realm for
spiritual salvation, and his valuation of a social system according to how much it
enhances life. Even though the idea of democracy provides a promise of
harmonious social life, there is a chasm between theory and practice. Even prodemocracy
commentators admit that there may be more promise than delivery.
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democracy is an impracticable form of government because it demands of the
ordinary citizen qualities which only the few can possess. It must, in the end,
represent the views of the 20 per cent who understand what 20 per cent
means” (R. Peters, 1966, p. 304).
Held also points out shortcomings in the institutions of liberal representative
democracy:
the disjuncture between the agencies which possess formal control and those
with actual control, between the power that is claimed for the people and
their limited actual power, between the promises of representatives and their
actual performance, is striking (Held, 1996, p. 334).
As a palliative for the disjuncture, Held advocates an ‘ideal normative
agreement’; in other words, an agreement to follow rules and laws on the grounds
that they are the regulations that would be agreed to in ideal conditions. It is not
clear in the literature though how such an agreement might be reached. War, trade
sanctions and international boycotts escalate from failed attempts to reach such
agreements – even between countries that aspire to similar democratic ideals.
Expecting normative ideals to resolve socio-political and religious difference is
problematic to say the least.
Within democratic nations, order is ultimately maintained through threat of
enforcement, although power is more likely to be exercised through mechanisms of
social exclusion as societal institutions determine who will have a say. Definitions
of terms like ‘persons’, ‘citizens’ or ‘eligible voters’ exclude categories of people
deemed not ready or not fit to be ‘persons’ (e.g., criminals, children, the insane),
thus normalising institutional patterns of self-preservation. The difficulty lies not
in the fact that such exclusions exist per se, but that they operate within a system
that purports to represent all. Such marginalisation is usually justified in terms of
‘welfare rights’ or ‘best interests’, although the net effect of such exclusion is a
reduction in participation. If the basis of exclusion is the idea that these people
have insufficient knowledge and/or morality to participate independently, their
sacrifice is really in the interests of system efficiency.
DEMOCRACY TO COME
Nietzsche depicts the democratisers of nineteenth century Europe as desolate and
monotonous with ‘grey dust’ in their brains from the building of metaphorical
stone dams and protective walls (WS §275), although he acknowledges the need
for democratic institutions as protection against future tyranny (WS §289). It is to
a vision of some other ‘democracy’ that our attention now turns. A recent
examination of Nietzsche’s thoughts in relation to democracy (Mangiafico, 2002)
criticises those who would excuse Nietzsche’s anti-democratic remarks, or distance
these remarks from the core of Nietzsche’s thought. Rather than search for ways to
fit Nietzsche within the current democratic consensus, the argument is that we
should be prepared to reshape ourselves in relation to someone who will disagree
with us. To accept the enormity of this task is far more in keeping with the
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Nietzschean canon, in which dissonance is not to be resolved but to be lived with
as a challenge and as an opportunity to grow.
Within Nietzsche’s scathing criticism of anything democratic or humanitarian,
lies a beacon of hope in his promise of a ‘democracy to come’ (WS §293), a motif
developed more recently by Derrida, as “an openness to the future and [an]
openness to the other” (Derrida, 2001, p. 180). Although having something in
common with what we understand by democracy today, Derrida is clear that such a
vision is “reducible neither to the contemporary reality of 'democracy' nor to the
ideal of democracy that informs such a reality” (Derrida, 2002, p. 234). In
Derrida’s view, Nietzsche’s critique is aimed at a particular form of democracy, so
he does not consider Nietzsche an “enemy of democracy in general” (ibid.).
Johnston (2001) attempts an examination of Nietzsche in relation to democracy
and education, although his vision is short in a number of ways, including his
limitation of ‘democracy’ to how it is practised in America. Equating education
with ‘curriculum’ and ‘instruction’, he sees the educator’s role as a ‘task’ to
‘accomplish’ (p. 89). He also treats the ‘social’ as a conglomerate with no
possibility of freedom or individual emergence, with “…no question of a
reconciliation between the realms of the individual and social” (p. 89). Inside such
limited parameters, Johnston concludes that with “no shared methods of
instruction, no curricula that can be perused, no contents to be discovered … there
is only the Nietzschean individual”.
Such a formulation is, however, unhelpful as a normative educational
philosophy and blind to the possibilities of Nietzsche’s Übermensch as embracing
‘otherness’ in an attitude of adversarial respect. Nietzsche’s project is very much
in the realm of the social, engaging to a large extent the democracy of his day61.
As Sassone (1996) points out, the Nietzschean democratic project is not solipsistic
or narcissistic. In any of Nietzsche’s voices, he teaches that we are in a social
relationship, a give and take with others, as soon as we have language. He was not
prepared to simply ignore the social in favour of some theoretical notion of
ungrounded individuality. To equate education with curriculum and instruction
might be a suitable formula for training of the masses, for the promotion of
Bildung, and for inculcating traditions, but education for Nietzsche’s ‘free spirits’
requires far broader horizons and higher reaching goals. The ‘higher man’ would
learn in spite of curriculum and instruction, with the locus of control firmly inside
an active learner, rather than in an instructor with a ‘task’ to perform. Although
Nietzsche might agree with the idea of the ‘social’ as a conglomerate (the ‘herd’),
he would not be satisfied with Johnston’s deterministic view that there is no
possibility of a ‘reconciliation between the realms of the individual and social’.
Nietzsche’s Übermensch is just such a reconciliation and one which Nietzsche
envisaged from the time of his early essay on Schopenhauer as one who achieved
greatness by overcoming extreme hardship in his social world. A Nietzschean
‘take’ on democracy and education must then go further than myopic introspection.
61 There are many barbed comments throughout Nietzsche's work about both Hegel and Bismarck in
relation to the German State. In addition, his major work, the On the Genealogy of Morals is almost
a total focus on the social and populist development of morality.
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Other commentators try to defend democratic readings of Nietzsche by
appealing to the familiarity of their own contemporary cultural practices. Hatab
(1995) for example sees a form of agonistic contest in the practice of political
speech-making where one candidate wins in the vote for government. However,
Nietzsche’s hope for the emergence of greatness is not well served by the short
lived nature of such contests, in which opponents are defeated and summarily
eliminated, and successful politicians are erased from the landscape and forgotten
after a season or two in power. This is hardly a model of the agon where
opponents are valued and power enhanced. It also does not reflect Nietzsche’s
contempt for politicians:
The entire West has lost those instincts out of which institutions grow, out of
which the future grows… The décadence in the valuating instinct of our
politicians, our political parties, goes so deep that they instinctively prefer
that which leads to dissolution, that which hastens the end (TI, Expeditions of
an Untimely Man §39).
Appel (1999) mounts a reactionary critique of any efforts to draft Nietzsche’s
thought into the service of radical democracy, claiming that anybody associating
him with emancipation and progressivism ignores his patently inegalitarian
political project. Rejecting Foucault’s approach to the interpretation of texts62 as
‘cavalier’, Appel holds uncompromisingly to the image of Nietzsche as illiberal
and anti-egalitarian, concerned with rank and hierarchy, and thus refuses to accept
any reading sympathetic to a radical democracy. Appel claims further that
postmodern theorists attracted to the notion of agonistic democracy are engaged in
dressing up Nietzsche’s politics with their own liberal democratic scruples.
Appel’s contention is that there are plenty of other thinkers with less dubious
credentials who could provide inspiration without the bending and twisting
necessary for a progressive appropriation of Nietzsche. “A Nietzsche thus
sanitised or domesticated can teach nothing that could not be learned directly from
dozens of contemporary writers” (Appel, 1999, p. 5). Such a refusal, however,
misses the poetic challenge, the linguistic elegance and the rich variety of
expression that Nietzschean scholars enjoy. Of course Nietzsche’s political
message could have been expressed more economically, and further clarity
achieved through explicit representation of the logical and the familiar in
representing political relationships. Presumably, one could also argue for the
elimination of all artistic expression and a sterile and monocular interpretation of
our social world. The fact that many writers do seek inspiration in Nietzsche’s
writing for all sorts of political projects might indicate a richness that Appel is
missing in his ‘either a democrat or not’ binarism.
62 Although Foucault adopted a Nietzschean perspective in many aspects of his philosophy, there is
controversy over Foucault’s statement:
The only tribute to thought such as Nietzsche's is precisely to use it, to make it groan and
protest. And if the commentators say that I am being unfaithful to Nietzsche, that is
absolutely of no interest (Foucault, 1980, pp. 53-54)
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Underlying Appel’s position is an assumption of a broad consensus among all
contemporary political and moral philosophers63 that all human beings are of equal
moral worth and are equal bearers of certain basic rights, and that one of the main
tasks of the political community is the defence and promotion of these rights.
From this perspective, Nietzsche’s usefulness to democratic theory is to enforce
egalitarians to defend their concern for the weak, their belief in equal moral worth
of all human beings and their desire to preserve and promote liberal institutions.
Appel sees such utility as having “antidotal benefits” – a form of innoculation
along the lines of Nietzsche’s own claim that “what does not kill me makes me
stronger” (TI, Maxims and Arrows §8)64. But in using Nietzsche this way (albeit as
a whipping post), Appel is committing the very sin that he abhors – using
Nietzsche to advance the antithesis of his whole philosophical project – the
egalitarian ideal of democracy.
However, there is a more serious criticism of Appel’s position. The ‘broad
consensus’ to which he refers relies on Dworkin’s suggestion that “every plausible
political theory has the same ultimate value, which is equality” (Kymlicka, 1990, p.
4). In this view, the interests of each member of the community matter equally and
each citizen is entitled to equal concern and respect. The trouble is that the
‘egalitarian plateau’ is achieved by excluding all that don’t agree – including
Nietzsche – from the realm of ‘plausible’ political and moral philosophy.
Denigrating Nietzsche’s writing as ‘embarrassingly elitist rantings’ (Appel, 1999,
p. 5) does little to engage with any worthwhile ideas that emerge in the rich body
of literature emanating from the growing academic interest in Nietzsche’s
philosophy. Small (2001), for example, devotes a whole book to the emergence of
Nietzsche’s originality and creativity in dialogue with other thinkers, and shows
quite clearly that it is plausible. It is not clear how Appel’s technique of selective
exclusion might deal with various snatches of Nietzsche that are explicitly
humanitarian in their focus; for example, Nietzsche’s conjecture that the desire for
equality might express itself either in drawing everybody to the lowest level (his
more common view of egalitarian sentiment), or as “a desire to … raise oneself and
everyone else up … through recognising their virtues, helping them, rejoicing in
their success” (HAH I §300).
In his vigilance against any acceptance of Nietzschean thought, Appel is keen to
reject Kaufmann’s sympathetic tidying up of Nietzsche for Anglo-American
sensibilities. His rejection goes as far as accepting the ‘new Nietzsche’ of
poststructuralist thought65 in its laying bare of morality and truth as grand
narratives, but only insofar as it undermines Kaufmann’s project. It is ironic that
Appel embraces the deliberate uncertainty of poststructuralism while at the same
time espousing equality as the ultimate premise in political philosophy. Adding to
the irony, Appel dissociates himself from any portrayal of Nietzsche as a relativist
by identifying a strong ethical-normative component in Nietzsche’s mission as an
63 Here, Appel cites Ronald Dworkin and Amartya Sen, but relies most heavily on Kymlicka’s (1990)
Contemporary Political Philosophy.
64 Appel backs up his claim here with a footnote to point out numerous instances in Nietzsche’s work
where he insists on the value of enemies.
65 His notion of ‘poststructuralist thought’ specifically refers to Derrida and Foucault.
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educator – albeit an “educator of sorts” (Appel, 1999, p. 12). Appel’s real battle
though, stems from his summary dismissal of Nietzsche for not engaging on the
egalitarian plateau. Without a common aspiration to equality as the overriding
concern (and clearly, Nietzsche does not aspire to equality), we are left with
conflicting appeals to incommensurate values – not ‘implausible, elitist ranting’.
In spite of Appel’s rejection of Nietzsche as the herald of any sort of democracy,
the closing section of this chapter argues that Nietzsche’s ideas do, in fact, signal
the possibility of a democracy to come; a democracy that goes beyond the binary
opposition between individual and community66 and leaves behind the unitary
rational ego as prime mover. A poststructural view of the subject suggests instead
a social identity, not as ‘already-existing’ but ‘in-process’ and often fragmented.
With the subject as contingent, and the relation between individual and community
problematic, Iris Young invites an “openness towards unassimilated otherness”
(1986, p. 22), formulated as a ‘politics of difference’ – a project of inclusive
democracy that means:
explicitly acknowledging social differentiations and divisions and
encouraging differently situated groups to give voice to their needs, interests,
and perspectives on the society in ways that meet conditions of
reasonableness and publicity (Young, 2000, p. 119).
A politics of difference is suspicious of universalist, foundationalist and
essentialist thinking and treats homogeneous constructions of individual or
community identity as exclusionary. It emerges as “the new desideratum for
understanding the complex nature of oppression in education and the way in which
multiple and contradictory subjectivities and identities are socially constructed”
(M. Peters, 1995, p. 55). For Cornell West, its function is:
to trash the monolithic and homogeneous in the name of diversity,
multiplicity, and heterogeneity; to reject the abstract, general and universal in
light of the concrete, specific and particular; and to historicise, contextualise
and pluralise by highlighting the contingent, provisional, variable, tentative,
shifting and changing (West, 1990, p. 19).
Advancing the theme of difference within a ‘democracy to come’, Chantal
Mouffe (1988) proposes a ‘radical democracy’ which entails giving up the abstract
idea of a universal human nature. She advocates instead a new kind of articulation
between the universal and the particular, acknowledging heterogeneity and leaving
66 Peters’ (1996) examination of culture and democracy points out that the debate between liberals and
communitarians has been tied on both sides to the binary logic of modernism. Each side seeks to
privilege one term or concept that the other seeks to deny. Liberalism, in its commitment to an
ideology of individualism, privileges the individual as the ultimate unit of analysis and thus devalues
any identity or rights grounded in group loyalties or tribal affiliations. Communitarians, on the other
hand, argue that our identity depends on our membership in a community of shared values and
meanings – a collective that Peters argues can be undesirably utopian and politically problematic in
its ignoring of endemic alienation and violence. The communitarian ideal privileges unity over
difference, and in turn, devalues heterogeneity and pluralism.
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room for plurality and conflict. The human subject is thus shifting and changing in
dialogue with its social surroundings:
we are in fact always multiple and contradictory subjects, inhabitants of a
diversity of communities (as many, really, as the social relations in which we
participate and the subject-positions they define), constructed by a variety of
discourses and precariously and temporarily sutured at the intersection of
those subject-positions (Mouffe, 1988, p. 44).
The ‘democracy to come’, welcomed as “a porous, permeable, open-ended
affirmation of the other” (Caputo, 1997, p. 123), is not about the power of the
majority and the rights of minorities. It is not defined by participation or consensus
or by insistence on rational clarity, but by respect for diversity: of beliefs, origins,
opinions and values. Such diversity is necessarily a space of tension and conflict,
of mutual recognition of the other, and cannot be reduced to a single principle.
Instead, Touraine argues, we need to build an increasingly open world that is also
as diverse as possible, since without unity, communication becomes impossible;
without diversity, death prevails. We cannot, he argues, sacrifice one for the sake
of the other:
Democracy should no longer be defined as the triumph of the universal over
the particularised, but as a set of institutional guarantees that makes it
possible to reconcile the unity of instrumental reason with the diversity of
practical experience, and to bring together social exchange and political
freedom … (Touraine, 1997, p. 3).
Democracy has a vital role in clearing the space for such reconciliation, a space
within which individual lives gain unity and meaning. The myth of a unitary
subject gives way here to a subject embedded within particular social or cultural
loyalties, inevitably the site of tension and the best hope for any personal and
collective opposition to domination and social control without requiring the total
dissolution of society. Within this engagement, “every social actor must recognise
that the other has the right to form projects and preserve memories” (Touraine,
1997, p. 186). Such a formulation is evident in Nietzsche’s preservation and
veneration of one’s enemies as constitutive of one’s own strength, and as
recognition of a totality of which we form a part, rather than an atomistic
segregation of ‘self’.
It is clear, then, that democracy as we know it in Western society today has little
positive value in terms of Nietzsche’s philosophy. If anything, it might be
defended as a means to an end, an “inspired collective preparation for the supreme
artist … who will be able to apply himself to his real task only when these
preparations have been fully carried out” (WS §275). In other words, democracy
that existed during Nietzsche’s day was a protective mechanism rather than a final
end – “quarantine arrangements” (WS §289) against the barbarism of the middle
ages. It was depicted as a preparatory phase for a work-in-progress – the building
of a stronger culture through the clearing of a space for individual creation.
Nietzsche’s ‘democracy to come’, translated here into a ‘politics of difference’,
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signals the possibility of that new type of existence. Such a possibility is explored
in the next chapter through the Nietzschean figure of the Übermensch.
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NIETZSCHE’S ÜBERMENSCH
A CONTINUOUS THREAD
Nietzsche’s philosophy is generally considered to have undergone a series of
transformations and thematic shifts throughout his writing life, although there are
some consistent threads throughout his philosophy. This chapter argues that one
such consistent thread is the notion of ‘overcoming’ inherent in his formulation of
Übermensch. It can be described in terms of personal challenge and agonistic
contest – incorporation rather than rejection of ‘otherness’. It provides a powerful
metaphor for education, signifying a level of development beyond the currently
known, and promoting life as subjective challenge and self-determination in
relation to the social and cultural world in which one is embedded. A significant
feature of the ‘overcoming’ process is that of cumulative building rather than
binary rejection, so it is important to include the early influences on Nietzsche in
any analysis of Übermensch, with particular reference to those educators he saw as
significant in his own development.
His early period was influenced by, and to some extent dedicated to, Wagner
and Schopenhauer. Wagner was a key figure in the production of his first book
The Birth of Tragedy, in which his focus was on Greek tragedy and art as
providing the possibility of redemption from the nihilism of western culture. The
early Nietzsche admired Wagner for his elevation of art and the culture of the pre-
Socratic Greeks. Nietzsche believed Greek culture incorporated all aspects of life,
not only beauty and tranquillity, but also the wild side of human nature, a wildness
that could be indulged in and represented most fully through art:
“the orgiastic element as it is lived in blissful raptures, in the mixture of pain
and lust, of joy and horror, and in the self-obliterating drunkenness of
Dionysian festivals. In them the conventional barriers and boundaries of
existence are broken, so that the individual seems to melt into the totality of
nature again” (Salomé, 1988, p. 39).
The Dionysian was inherent in Schopenhauer’s formulation of the will – a blind,
striving force as fundamental to life. Nietzsche’s early essays eulogised
Schopenhauer as a genius, an untimely man and his educator: a figure to be
emulated. Much later, Nietzsche was to indulge in strong self-criticism for
believing that the world could be transformed through art, and for his naïve praise
of both Wagner and Schopenhauer. However, his later attempts to distance himself
can be seen as indicators of his own philosophical progression and do not detract
from the intensity of his earlier admiration for these inspirational figures. In fact,
one commentator (Salomé, 1988) suggests that his later philosophy was a return to
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his earlier views, albeit in a different form. His notion of the ‘releasing redeemer’
evolved from the ‘genius’, to later take the form of ‘scientist’ and then
‘philosopher’ as the heroic figure capable of transcending cultural limitations.
Nietzsche’s middle period is often described as a positivistic phase, in which his
quest for knowledge was a focus on reason and science, and a turning away from
his earlier Romanticism. Rationality began to supersede genius as a desirable
quality (DB V §548). His analysis of the development of genius suggests it is
learnable through disciplined workmanship (HAH I §163); through painstaking
attention to the constituent parts rather than a focus on the ‘effect of a dazzling
whole’. He sees as erroneous belief or religious superstition the idea that genius is
of supra-human origin, proposing instead that great spirits should acquire an
insight into the nature and origin of their powers as merely particular
configurations of purely human qualities. These qualities include undiminishing
energy, resolute application to individual goals, great personal courage, and the
good fortune to have had the finest teachers, models and methods (HAH I §164):
Do not talk about giftedness, inborn talents! One can name great men of all
kinds who were very little gifted. They acquired greatness, became geniuses
(as we put it), through qualities the lack of which no one who knew what they
were would boast of: they all possessed that seriousness of the efficient
workman which first learns to construct the parts properly before it ventures
to fashion a great whole (HAH I §163).
This period of Nietzsche’s writing is characterised perhaps most famously for
the emergence of his claim that ‘God is dead’ (GS §108; §125; §343; §344). The
proclamation serves as a blatant challenge to fundamentalist thinking, as a negation
of faith in some other life than this, as a rejection of any transcendental purpose for
the universe, as a disbelief in eternal life, as a lack of faith in morality (GS §343)
and as a ‘de-deification of nature’ (GS §109). The thought is put succinctly by
Heidegger:
That suprasensory world of purposes and norms no longer quickens and
supports life. That world has itself become lifeless, dead … that is the
meaning of the word ‘God is dead,’ thought metaphysically (Heidegger,
1977c, pp. 98-99).
The death of God is emphasised in Zarathustra’s announcement of the overman
as the ‘meaning of the earth’ and as an overcoming of humanity as we now know
it:
Let your will say: the overman shall be the meaning of the earth! I beseech
you, my brothers, remain faithful to the earth, and do not believe those who
speak to you of otherworldly hopes! Poison-mixers are they, whether they
know it or not. Despisers of life are they, decaying and poisoned themselves,
of whom the earth is weary: so let them go (Z I, Prologue §3).
Nietzsche’s theme of eternal recurrence also arises in his middle period,
interwoven thematically with his Übermensch and his ‘death of god’ as an
affirmation of the present world. Übermensch is the type of being that affirms life
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(in this world) to the extent that he would will the recurrence of events
‘innumerable times more’ unto eternity: “How well disposed would you have to
become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate
eternal confirmation and seal?” (GS §341). Taken literally, the idea that history
will be repeated in every minute detail implies a return of an identical self at some
future point, leaving all creation of no lasting value – a concept difficult to
reconcile with the notion of a creative conscious self who would recognise such a
cycle and commit to overcoming previous limitations. Thus, the doctrine of
eternal recurrence seems to presuppose a circular or cyclical notion of time, while
the Übermensch formulation requires a linear concept of time – a “paradigm of
logical incompatibility” (Ansell-Pearson, 1994, p. 116). Klossowski (1997)
therefore regards a literal interpretation of recurrence as an “absurd phantasm” (p.
67), raising the possibility of a ‘multiple alterity’ inscribed within an individual as
a reconciliation for the idea of recurrence. Nietzsche allows room for such
flexibility within the notion of ‘transitoriness’ in his notes about the enjoyment of
productive and destructive force – explained as “continual creation” (WP §1049).
An interpretation is that it is the cycle of creation rather than the specific creations
themselves that is destined for eternal recurrence.
The impracticability of eternal recurrence as a theory of metaphysics is itself a
recurrent theme in Nietzschean scholarship, having been pointed out shortly after
Nietzsche’s death. Writing in 1907, Simmel (1991) posits the case of three wheels
rotating about an axis to show that a particular set of physical relationships
between objects is not necessarily destined for a repetition at some distant future
time. His interpretation has Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence not as descriptive of
reality, but functioning instead as a hypothetical imperative to live in such a way
that we would will to live that way forever, as if there was an eternal recurrence.
Danto (1965) also debunks the logic involved in Nietzsche’s (not fully
expounded) argument for the theory of eternal recurrence. Obviously, no
empirical proof can be available for the theory since a previous cycle of events
could not leave a trace for the next cycle to observe if both cycles resembled each
other exactly. Danto draws further detail from Nietzsche’s unpublished notes to
delineate and undermine the logical propositions that support the theory, those
propositions being: (a) that the sum total of energy in the universe is finite; (b) that
the number of states of energy is finite; and (c) that energy is conserved. Because
the nature of a ‘state’ of energy is not defined, we are not to know if (b) is true. In
addition, Danto argues, the truth of (a), (b) and (c) require that time is infinite, that
energy has infinite duration, and that change is eternal. This collection of
metaphysical and scientific theorems, along with the principle of sufficient reason,
are, according to Danto, sufficient to underpin Nietzsche’s theory of eternal
recurrence – although the result is contrary to the second law of thermodynamics
and the gradual cooling of the universe; thus Nietzsche’s belief that “mechanistic
theory must be considered an imperfect and merely provisional hypothesis” (WP
§1066).
In contrast to the Christian doctrine of eternal damnation, Nietzsche’s own
doctrine expounded in one of his unpublished notes was, “so live that you must
desire to live again. This is your duty” (Danto, 1965, p. 212). This affirmation of
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life is central to Nietzsche’s amor fati, or love of one’s fate, “that one wants
nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely
bear what is necessary… but love it” (EH, Why I am so Clever §10). Amor fati was
Nietzsche’s formula for the greatness of a human being, for to celebrate what is
with a sense of joy gives meaning to life in this world. Irrespective of the
metaphysics of Nietzsche’s theory of eternal recurrence, this was in effect the
message of his doctrine. With such an all-embracing perspective, the past can be
reconstituted (or at least celebrated) as a product of the creative will, with
redemption springing from the ability to “recreate all ‘it was’ into a ‘thus I willed
it’” (Z II, On Redemption). Übermensch then, as the one who teaches and affirms
the doctrine of eternal recurrence, carries awesome responsibility for life’s
direction.
Nietzsche’s Attempt at a Self Criticism – a preface added to his Birth of Tragedy
fourteen years after the first edition – identifies the theme of morality that he
grappled with in his later writing. He claims that even his first book was an attack
on morality – in particular, Christian morality. His claim here is in keeping with
the focus of his later works (e.g., Beyond Good and Evil, On the Genealogy of
Morals, The AntiChrist) in which he denies that there is a universal morality. In
doing so, he uproots the self from any idea of ‘home’, and depicts genuine
philosophers as those concerned with the creation of new values. His Zarathustra
as a preacher of the overman, has been described as a manifesto of personal selfovercoming,
and according to some commentators, an autobiographical account of
his own philosophical quest.
Lou Salomé, a younger contemporary and admirer of Nietzsche, published her
rendition of his philosophy in 1888, while Nietzsche was still alive. Her Nietzsche
provides a psychological perspective of a tormented philosopher, driving himself to
intense physical extremes so that his deepest philosophy could arise from such
passionate experience. In addition to the three periods outlined, she suggests an
earlier development in what she calls Nietzsche’s ‘mental life’ that goes back to his
days as a boy and his break with his family and institutional Christian belief.
Although she acknowledges that his works rarely mention this separation, she
regards it as the beginning of his changes because it already casts a light upon the
uniqueness of his development.
At one level, the idea that Nietzsche’s philosophy took different directions over
time is not disputed here. However there were a number of themes that continued
throughout his work. Salomé identifies four in particular, these being the
Dionysian, decadence, the untimely, and the cult of genius (Salomé, 1988, p. 48).
She suggests these continued to engage him (albeit in constantly changing guise)
until the end.
An important addition to this list – not altogether separate – is the notion of
overcoming, personified in his formulation of Übermensch. Nietzsche’s ineffective
attempts to distance himself from Wagner and Schopenhauer became a lifelong
dialectical engagement, culminating in his admission that his eulogising of
Schopenhauer was really his own history in the making (EH, The Untimely Ones
§3). His attachment to great educators was an overcoming of herd mentality. His
overcoming of his earlier fascination with his mentors was clearly not in the form
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of expunging them from memory, but rather in the form of acknowledging his
engagement with them and incorporating aspects of their strength into his own selfconstitution.
His move beyond good and evil and his deconstruction of morality
was a means of overcoming the egalitarian servitude of Christianity and the social
mores of the time. It also provided fertile ground for the creation of new values as
an activity for Nietzsche’s ‘philosophers of the future’. The continuous personal
challenge that Nietzsche established for himself through his construction of worthy
adversaries is the notion of education that is the focus of this chapter.
The adoption of this focus is not to say that education is limited to personal
challenge, for Nietzsche himself acknowledged some value in the technicist nature
of much of what counted as education, and saw much academic endeavour as
‘scholarly grinding’. His notion of Bildung recognised the need for mass education
although he also saw the need for special individuals to arise above mediocrity. In
an unpublished note from 1888, he refers to the economic management of the earth
that would soon be inevitable, with mankind as “a machine in the service of this
economy – as a tremendous clockwork, composed of ever smaller, ever more
subtly ‘adapted’ gears” (WP §866). Such a vision presaged much of what counts
as education today in the form of employment-oriented skills training. In the
degree of government scrutiny over educational institutions and the degree of
control exercised through quality assurance mechanisms, it could be argued that
education today is merely a metaphor for government. However, for Nietzsche,
educational value is derived not from the ‘dwarfing and adaptation of man to a
specialised utility’, but from his ability to rise up from his current predicament:
The production of a synthetic, summarising, justifying man for whose
existence this transformation of mankind into a machine is a precondition, as
a base on which he can invent his higher form of being (WP §866).
The focus on Nietzsche’s Übermensch is on his style of overcoming, how that
constitutes personal challenge, and the way in which that can serve as a model of
education.
WHO WAS THAT ÜBERMENSCH?
Nietzsche’s themes of eternal recurrence and will to power are brought together in
his Übermensch figure, first referred to explicitly in his Gay Science. Although not
constituting a definition, overman is characterised therein as the individual who
can “posit his own ideal” and “derive from it his own law, joys, and rights” (GS
§143). His figure of the overman is contrasted with near-men, undermen, dwarfs,
fairies, centaurs, satyrs, demons and devils. Given Nietzsche’s rejection of
conformity and transcendental ideals, Übermensch then becomes a metaphor for a
plurality of norms in keeping with his later announcement of the death of god, an
undermining of the doctrine of one normal human type, and the possibility for
multiple perspectives. In fact, Zarathustra is later to announce, “Dead are all gods:
now we will that overman live!” (Z I, On the Gift-Giving Virtue §3).
Nietzsche’s process involves admiration, emulation, and then a moving beyond
the images of people, real or imaginary, that he considers worthy of being our
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educators. In this process, we learn to become who we are, or who we can be. The
desire to relive each moment forever was possible only for a being that experienced
and celebrated life to the full. Finding Nietzsche’s Übermensch is not a simple
task, and given that he never defined an actual specimen for us, we are left to
determine possibilities from the literature that preceded Nietzsche, from his
references to Übermenschlich qualities of the people he admired, and from his
depiction of his own physical health and socio-cultural predicament. Inherent in
Übermensch is the notion of continuous and dynamic overcoming of the currently
known; of something beyond what is currently known as ‘man’: “Man is
something that shall be overcome … a rope, tied between beast and overman—a
rope over an abyss” (Z I, Prologue).
We are not given direct examples although several individuals are referred to in
his work as having many Übermenschlich qualities. As models or types of man,
his early writing offers three inspirational images: the man of Rousseau, full of fire
and ready for revolution; the man of Goethe, committed not to action but to
contemplation; and the man of Schopenhauer, who reconciles action and
contemplation, voluntarily giving up comfort and happiness in life, courageously
taking on the suffering of life and frequently remaining misunderstood. All three
provide some insight into the way in which the human condition might be
overcome and new values created. Nietzsche’s early admiration for Schopenhauer
as his educator relied on qualities that he later attributed to Übermensch, in
particular the ability to transform life’s hardships through a cheerful disposition.
Notable among the three images of man was Goethe:
He did not sever himself from life, he placed himself within it; nothing could
discourage him and he took as much as possible upon himself, above himself
within himself. What he aspired to was totality; he strove against the
separation of reason, sensuality, feeling, will… he disciplined himself to a
whole, he created himself (TI, Expeditions of an Untimely Man §49).
Nietzsche’s Übermensch has been interpreted by some critics as one that
advocates a master-slave society and justifies totalitarian government. Kaufmann
is one of many to refute this connection and attribute it to misinterpretation.
Tyranny over others is not part of Nietzsche’s vision, although Kaufmann suggests
the failure to indulge in it is no virtue unless one has the power to become a tyrant
and refrains deliberately (1974, p. 316). An unpublished note from Nietzsche
posits as the ideal ‘the Roman Caesar with Christ’s soul’ (WP §983), a phrase that
represents for Kaufmann the “very heart of Nietzsche’s overman, capable of both
sympathy and hardness” (WP §983n).
Kaufmann rejects the interpretation of Übermensch as a model of totalitarian
domination, devoting a whole chapter of his (at the time) definitive text on
Nietzsche to a refutation of the idea that Nietzsche was a precursor to Nazism. He
notes in particular that Nietzsche did not consider the Germans a ‘master race’ (p.
284); that various writers (Oehler, Bäumler and Hartle) misrepresented and
misquoted Nietzsche for their own ends (pp. 290-1); that Nietzsche explicitly
rejected nationalism and race hatred (p. 295); and that Nietzsche’s occasional
comments on ‘blood’ and ‘breeding’ were metaphoric rather than biologistic –
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more commonly found in his unpublished notes than elsewhere (pp. 305-6). Oscar
Levy, prefacing a 1921 collection of Nietzsche’s private letters, reminds us that
Nietzsche was, in fact, half-Polish and an outspoken critic of German nationalism,
citing as examples Nietzsche’s view of Prussia as “a power full of the greatest
danger for culture” (Levy, 1985, p. viii) and the Germany of his time as “the
stupidest, most depraved and most mendacious form of the German spirit that has
ever existed” (ibid.).
Danto (1965) too, refutes the reading of Nietzsche’s Übermensch as a “return to
the instinctual swamplands of the primitive psyche” (p. 194) and a “seeming
nostalgia for the Neolithic freedom of the happy brute living in unaware animal
felicity” (p. 187). He also rejects images of a physical superman or dominating
overlord, suggesting that the prefix ‘Uber’ connotes ‘over’ in the sense of ‘over the
hills and far away’ rather than taking orders from someone ‘over me’; in other
words, a sense of beyondness rather than superiority. As a defensible ethical
project for education, then, Übermensch is interpreted as overman rather than
superman; a symbol of the ‘repudiation of any conformity to a single norm’; the
‘antithesis to mediocrity and stagnation’:
the ‘Dionysian’ man who …has overcome his animal nature, organised the
chaos of his passions, sublimated his impulses, and given style to his
character … a spirit who has become free (Kaufmann, 1974, p. 316).
Kaufmann provides a brief genealogy of the idea of Übermensch, tracing similar
concepts back to as early as the second century A.D. with the hyperanthropos
found in the writings of Lucian. Übermensch also featured in the work of Heinrich
Muller in 1664. In other words, Nietzsche did not invent the term so much as
appropriate it to his own philosophy. Later literary occurrences of Übermenschen
are also noted, particularly in the work of Goethe, whom Nietzsche was very
familiar with. Kaufmann concludes that the English term ‘superman’ does not
sufficiently capture the connotation for Nietzsche, in that it fails to incorporate an
element that was important to Nietzsche – the idea that the Übermensch also
involved the control over spirits (Kaufmann, 1974, p. 307).
In clarifying the nature of the overman, Nietzsche posits other types; on the one
hand his antithesis – the last man: “the extreme representative of weakness, a man
frozen at the level of passive nihilism, totally reduced to a ‘herd animal’, rendered
uniform, equal, and level – the man who has found happiness” (Haar, 1984, p. 24).
Finding the “little garden of happiness” (HAH I §591) that accompanies being
resigned to small or moderate achievements is, for Zarathustra, a ‘wretched
contentment’ – the “hour of the great contempt… in which your happiness, too,
arouses your disgust” (Z I, Prologue §3). On the other hand is the Higher man,
searching for scientific knowledge and therefore still the prisoner of an ideal.
Although engaged in more worthy endeavour, for Nietzsche, the higher man is also
engaged in a nihilistic quest in that he posits a goal outside life itself. The higher
man’s struggle is recognised as ongoing, with failure imminent: “The higher its
type the more rarely a thing succeeds” (Z IV, On the Higher Man §15), although
there can be no substitute for the ongoing commitment. In contrast to the current
(and not yet good enough) state of man, Zarathustra is very clear about the
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importance of Nietzsche’s overman: “I have the overman at heart, that is my first
and only concern” (Z IV, On the Higher Man §3).
In 1907, Simmel identified the overman not as a rigid structure with an
absolutely determined content, but as “indicating the human form that is superior to
the present real one … independent of all the limits typical of reality” (Simmel,
1991, p. 175). This interpretation is supported by Nietzsche’s own reflection that
the word ‘overman’ designates a type of supreme achievement, as opposed to
‘modern’ men (EH, Why I Write Such Good Books §1).
Although it was mid career before Nietzsche formulated his notion of
Übermensch, the very act of establishing such a value constitutes Übermenschlich
activity, suggesting that he was already living his ideal before his conceptual
clarification of the idea. According to Salomé’s rendition, Nietzsche’s
Übermenschlich tendencies began in relation to his family, to German culture, and
to the god of his youth. In fact, his life’s philosophical work can be seen as a series
of attempts to overcome – not only the nihilism of Western culture and his own ill
health, but his previous philosophical endeavours as well. This is very clear in his
later appending of prefaces and commentaries to his earlier works, and especially
so in the stern self-criticism of Ecce Homo, where he blatantly qualified,
undermined and/or refuted some of his earlier major works.
Lovitt (1977) makes a worthwhile contribution to the genealogy of Übermensch
as well, noting that the term is often generally translated as ‘superhuman’,
‘demigod’, or ‘superman’. He contends that the term ‘overman’ provides a better
connotation than ‘the overman’ in that it refers to generic man – to humanity,
rather than any particular individual. Lovitt suggests Übermensch might be
translated “man-beyond” (p. 96), for overman stands in contrast with what we
know of man up until now. However it would be wrong to talk of an ‘ideal’ man
since that would posit a pre-determined formulation, whereas Nietzsche’s path to
greatness shunned idealism in favour of present reality. It is this ‘going beyond’
that constitutes the challenge for education.
Perhaps as close to a definition of Übermensch as anywhere is Nietzsche’s
poetic portrayal of Goethe’s character:
A strong highly cultured human being, skilled in all physical
accomplishments, who, keeping himself in check and having reverence for
himself, dares to allow himself the whole compass and wealth of naturalness,
who is strong enough for this freedom; a man of tolerance not out of
weakness, but out of strength, because he knows how to employ to his
advantage what would destroy an average nature; a man to whom nothing is
forbidden, except it be weakness…. A spirit thus emancipated stands in the
midst of the universe with a joyful and trusting fatalism, in the faith that only
what is separate and individual may be rejected, that in the totality everything
is redeemed and affirmed (TI, Expeditions of an Untimely man §49).
WHAT IS THAT ÜBERMENSCH?
With some idea of the development of Nietzsche’s Übermensch, it is now possible
to examine a few functional aspects of that same figure that help to explain the
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notion of education at the heart of this book. The discussion focuses on the
ontological relationship with human ‘being’, the pathological relationship with
Nietzsche’s own state of health, the historical relationship with evolution, and the
ethical relationship with Kant’s noumenal world.
A focus on Übermensch is not so much an examination of an ontological state,
as a form of critical engagement with social and cultural mores that shape
educational development, an engagement easily interpreted as Nietzsche’s early
articulation of subjectivity. It constitutes a countermeasure to the nihilism of
modernity after the death of god – a move towards creating value in a celebration
of this life; a celebration in which the creator is secure, independent, and highly
individualistic, with a healthy balance between passion and reason. The nihilistic
condition of human existence is captured in Nietzsche’s book title Human, All Too
Human. In contrast, he uses the term ‘human, superhuman’ to refer to our ‘true
self’ – a spirit of overflowing abundance, who “plays naïvely … with all that was
hitherto called holy, good, untouchable, divine” (GS §382).
According to Nietzsche, the unthinking masses conform to tradition, and subject
themselves to an other-worldly morality as a means of diminishing their
involvement in this life. The ‘other world’ is a realm constantly lambasted by
Nietzsche, whether it be the heavenly after-life of Christian belief, or Kant’s
formulation of morality in its dependence on the world of reason unattainable in
the phenomenal world. “If one shifts the centre of gravity of life out of life into the
‘Beyond’ – into nothingness – one has deprived life as such of its centre of gravity”
(AC §43).
Haar (1985) is quite clear that Nietzsche’s philosophy is not a false hope of a
new world order at some stage in the future, since there will always be gregarious
humanity subsisting and prospering by stabilising itself at the nihilistic level of the
search for happiness. Nevertheless, there is room for some individuals to surpass
known man. In a constant state of transition, the highest possible man, the
‘legislator of the future’ – the man who lays down the law, submitting himself to it
as well – amounts to only a step towards the overman. Although this distinction is
reasonably clear, it constitutes an irreconcilable problem for Haar, in that the
overman “stands in opposition to the identification of man with himself as the
highest living being” (Haar, 1985, pp. 25-26). Heidegger achieves a partial
reconciliation by suggesting that Nietzsche’s Übermensch refers neither to man
such as exists until now, nor a type of man who tosses humanity aside. Man’s
identification of himself – his identity – is not synonymous with his being, but
super-dimensional. With the possibility of a gap between who we are and who we
can be, Heidegger suggests that Übermensch surpasses man as he is up to now,
“for the sole purpose of bringing man-till-now into his still unattained nature, and
there to secure him.” (Heidegger, 1985, p. 67).
Zarathustra is quite clear in his teaching – “I teach you the overman” (Z I,
Prologue §3). Übermensch is always a bridge and not an end. It is a process rather
than an endpoint – a journey rather than a destination. With this in mind, the
ontological problem of whether Übermensch can exist is not a huge concern. The
critical question becomes how do we work towards this Übermensch. Based on the
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analysis so far, a focus on Übermensch is not about human being as such, so much
as a “permanent critique of our historical era” (Foucault, 1984a, p. 42).
The second aspect to be examined in relation to Übermensch is the importance
Nietzsche attaches to the notion of overcoming adversity. His personal struggle
and self-overcoming typifies his formulation of the ‘overman’ concept, with his
friend and confidante, Lou Salomé, suggesting that his philosophy may have been
driven by a lifelong personal struggle against illness, against convention and
against his eventual insanity. She argues that his illness necessitated taking himself
as the material of his thought, that his health was ever-present as an issue, and that
his philosophical world picture derived from the driven suffering of his own inner
being. If all this were otherwise, she claims, perhaps he would not have been able
to accomplish things so individualistic and unique. What she noted was a
“compulsion” (1988, p. 56) toward self-isolation and torment as a means of
generating ideas:
The philologist tangentially and temporarily draws on the inner person only
as required by the solution of a problem. For Nietzsche, on the other hand,
the concern with a problem means above all, insight, to allow himself to be
shaken to his depths, to be overwhelmed. To be convinced about the truth of
a matter, meant for him “to be thrown in a heap,” as he said. He took up a
thought or idea as one takes up something fateful, and which enthralled his
entire person” more than thinking an idea through, he lived it with passion
and with such measureless abandon that it exhausted him. And, like
something fated and which has played itself out, the ripened thought fell
away from him. Only when sobriety ensued after each excitation did he allow
his hard-won knowledge to work upon him in a purely intellectual way; only
then did he pursue that knowledge with a calm and probing rationality. His
notable drive for change in pursuing ideas in the realm of philosophical
knowledge was conditioned by the tremendous drive for new emotions of a
spiritual sort; and so, complete clarity was always only the companion of
surfeit and exhaustion (Salomé, 1988, p. 34).
Although the pathological story is not accepted as sufficient explanation for all
of Nietzsche’s ideas, the severity and ongoing nature of his health problems were
clearly an influencing factor in his focus on life and health, and on the concept of
facing challenge and overcoming difficulties as a means of realising one’s own
strength.
A third aspect worthy of consideration is the relationship between Übermensch
and Darwin’s famous theory of the origin of species. To the degree that
Übermensch might be considered a continuous evolutionary process, Nietzsche
could be accused of being a social Darwinian. Nietzsche certainly knew of Darwin
and there are explicit references in Zarathustra to the relationship between ape and
man. However, adopting an evolutionary model would imply a teleological view
of progress with more value attached to each ‘better’ stage achieved, since
Darwin’s theory held that “as natural selection works solely by and for the good of
each being, all corporeal and mental endowment will tend to progress towards
perfection” (Darwin, 1966, p. 489). Thus, it is by virtue of the final goal that a
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string of historical changes might be construed as an ascending hierarchy of these
stages rather than a mere succession of equivalent stages.
For this reason, Simmel (1991) argues that Nietzsche is not Darwinian,
suggesting that historical changes to culture points towards “accidental
occurrences” (p. 11) rather than towards a prescribed purpose or a rational master
plan for existence. Instead, he suggests, life is development and continuous flux,
with each constitution of life finding its higher and meaning-giving norm in its next
stage. Nietzsche’s ‘overman’ is nothing but a level of development which is one
step beyond the level reached at a specific time by a specific mankind. In this
argument, mere change becomes evolution in the evaluative sense only through a
goal that has somehow been presupposed. Evolution presupposes an extrinsic
purpose for life, so to agree with Darwin would be to “smuggle an absolute final
goal through the back door” (Simmel, 1991, p. 7) and thus undermine the value
that Nietzsche attributed to life itself.
Nietzsche’s Übermensch then and his notion of overcoming has been a
continuous thread throughout his philosophy. In some respects, it could be argued
that the ethical prescription is similar to that presupposed in Western society and
underpinned by Kant’s autonomous individual. One might argue that, like Kant’s
moral realm, Übermensch is unattainable, unknowable in its essence, and beyond
our current reality. Underlying both philosophies is also the importance of
freedom. For Kant, morality is only possible where the individual is free. For
Nietzsche, value also lies in the freedom to explore new possibilities for man.
There is a fundamental difference however. For Kant, morality arises in, and is
dependent upon, an individuated rational self, resulting in exclusion of otherness;
particularly the Dionysian otherness that Nietzsche embraces as a driving force in
life. Connolly points out that there is more to life than any official definition of
identity can express, and that our possibilities for being are never exhausted or
captured by our identity.
This fugitive difference between my identity and that in me which slips
through its conceptual net is to be prized; it forms a pool from which
creativity can flow and attentiveness to the claims of other identities might be
drawn. Because this abundance is in me but is neither me nor mine, perhaps it
can help me to recognise and attend to the claims of the other in myself and
to the claims of alter-identities (Connolly, 1991, p. 120).
Connolly’s fugitive difference harbours the possibility for Übermensch to arise
and challenge currently accepted truths. This type of challenge is more than
rational inquiry and intellectual posturing. It incorporates rather than excludes
otherness, embracing the impulsive side of human nature and the creative force
immanent in the formulation of new values. This was for Nietzsche, the realm of
Übermensch:
the Dionysian man ... who has overcome his animal nature, organised the
chaos of his passions, sublimated his impulses, and given style to his
character – the man of tolerance, not from weakness but from strength,” “a
spirit who has become free” (Kaufmann, 1974, p. 316).
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Nietzsche’s formulation of ‘overcoming’, although somewhat compressed in the
summary above, challenges some common assumptions about human identity.
Unlike the autonomous individual espoused by Kant, Übermensch is particular (not
universal), impassioned (not just rational), in the image of man (not God),
embodied (not spiritual), and worldly (not ideal or transcendental). Übermensch is
social, interactive, and pragmatic; and – through agonistic contest and social
engagement – incorporates otherness. The ethical content of such a formulation is
a strong critique of the Kantian principles that underpin the dominant paradigm in
educational ethics, highlighting the contestable nature of what counts as education,
and the political context in which that contest is usually played out. The
relationship between ‘self’ and society is complex, and to tip the balance in favour
of a creative and unruly subject is to challenge the familiar edifices and societal
controls of Western civilisation.
ÜBERMENSCH AND EDUCATION
‘Education’ is not a label for any real entity in the world. Educational philosophers
have been busy for years trying to establish universal definitions, asserting one
version over another, or at least coming to terms with competing and often
contrasting notions of what it is to educate. Some positivistic accounts describe
education in terms of transmission of culture or the passing on of our heritage.
Marxist accounts envisage education as liberation from ideological oppression,
while postmodern accounts might prefer to view education as an irreconcilable
contest of ideas. Governments in Western economies are heavily invested in ‘skills
training’ for industry, with policy developers currently redefining education in
terms of the ‘knowledge economy’ through the provision of financial incentives to
shape up the educational direction of targeted sectors of the population67. A
detailed history of thinking about what constitutes education or analysis of current
philosophical debate is beyond the scope of this chapter, although it is important
and sufficient here to acknowledge that what counts as education is a contested
field, and that Nietzsche’s Übermensch provides an interesting perspective from
which to examine some ethical aspects of education.
If we were to consider Übermensch as an icon for education, some concepts
must be excluded from what currently counts as ‘education’. The liberal ideal of
the autonomous subject fails the screening test, in terms of its requirement to adopt
universal laws, its insistence on rationality as the over-riding concern, and its
separation of a moral will from subsequent action. There are problems, too, for
communitarianism and other collectivist notions of society and culture, in their
insistence that individuals defer to group norms and values. The ideals of
democracy, justice and equality also fail to the degree that all individuals are
67 In New Zealand, $10,000 government scholarships were available for select groups: people from
rural areas wanting to teach in rural schools; Maori or Pasifika people wanting to teach in early
childhood, primary or secondary settings; and people wanting to teach primary or secondary subjects
using Maori language. http://www.teachnz.govt.nz/scholarships/p1_scholarships.html (Accessed 6
August 2004).
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accorded equal value, when Nietzsche’s Übermensch as creator clearly occupies a
different status from the nihilistic last man.
Obviously, the exclusion of some of these features might lead educators to reject
Übermensch as an icon for education, in that it constitutes an assault on existing
ethical premises. In that rejection, it might be argued that Nietzsche’s theory has
little relevance to modern education as an ethical enterprise. However, for the
purpose of inquiry, it may be useful to suspend such judgment to investigate the
value of Nietzsche’s figure for educational philosophy, either within the existing
Western canon, or in terms of what might be thought of as a Nietzschean
philosophy of education.
Nietzsche acknowledged some value in technicist education, and saw much
academic endeavour as ‘scholarly grinding’. His notion of Bildung recognised the
need for mass education although he also saw the need for special individuals to
arise above mediocrity. His higher process involves admiration, emulation, and
then a moving beyond the images of people, real or imaginary, that he considers
worthy of being our educators. In this process, we learn to become who we are, or
who we can be.
Education for Nietzsche was not separate from culture; it was the role of culture
to nurture the genius, who in turn might lead man to new heights. It was not
possible for everyone to aspire to genius, but it was our educational duty to prepare
the way for his development. Disciplined training in language was important then,
as a means of learning one’s traditions, of withstanding the dictates of fashion or
social pressure, and thus intensifying culture. This notion of education is perhaps
best thought of in terms of the German words Bildung and Lehre in terms of
training for the masses, providing instruction in the disciplines, and bringing
human beings into culture. This image fits with Nietzsche’s image of the herd as a
description of ordinary folk.
But Nietzsche also had another (albeit related) notion of education. Rising out
of the herd would be those uncommon individuals who had a higher destiny,
exemplified in Nietzsche’s frequent depictions of the artist and the philosopher as
the creators of new metaphors for life – as new incantations of the genius. These
higher types needed to be unshackled from conformity and tradition, and able to
exercise their creative abilities to the full. One such philosopher was Nietzsche
himself, who looked to Schopenhauer as his mentor. Schacht (1995) points out the
use of the German word Erzieher, in the title of Nietzsche’s essay about
Schopenhauer, signifying a different sort of education in recognition of
Schopenhauer’s significance for his own intellectual development, representing the
way in which one thinker may be educated by another without thereby becoming a
mere disciple:
by challenging, provoking, stimulating, and inspiring, but above all by
serving as an examplar, by what he sought to do and how he sought to do it.
It is in this sense that ‘educator’ is here to be understood (Schacht, 1995, p.
157).
Nietzschean education is involved with the task of making human beings human
through developing their intellectual and creative abilities to the full. It advocates
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breaking free from conventionality, being responsible for creating one’s own
existence, and overcoming the inertia of tradition and custom. The difficult task is
to follow the path towards a higher, and as yet unknown, self. A necessary step is
to examine our revered objects and educators of the past as a means of discovering
how we have become who we are. Examining those held in high esteem was, for
Nietzsche, the path to our ‘true selves’. Education, he claimed, should recognise
and develop particular strengths in a pupil, while on the other hand, drawing forth
and nourishing all aspects in harmony. The educative function seems to be one
that is determined by the pupil, who adopts the challenge of achieving the standard
set by his exemplar.
One might also extract themes from Nietzsche’s work that with minor
interpretation would be recognizable within existing educational discourse; for
example, recognition and encouragement of individual excellence; the role of
leadership, authority and responsibility; individual responsibility in setting one’s
own goals; working together for a common purpose in the building of culture; a
broadly based education for life rather than the learning of technical skills for the
workplace; and the role of language in cultural development.
The promotion of Übermensch as a notion then does hold some relevance to
established traditions in educational philosophy, even if not all aspects suit all
philosophies. Even if Nietzsche’s somewhat idealised human form may be
desirable, it remains to be seen whether the defining features of that form are
consistent with attempts to bring it about through education. It is suggested here
that any notion of education has at base the function of making life better in some
way, although there is disagreement over what the ‘better’ might be. Educational
hope for the Übermensch relies at very least on the possibility of overcoming the
nihilism of social conditioning, and more positively, on providing some aspect of
value for a ‘better’ life. That hope depends to some extent on whether overcoming
nihilism is possible, whether Übermensch provides access to anything that is of
value, and whether that value can in some way ground a desirable social space. All
three of these aspects are examined in the portrayal of education as a form of
Heideggerian technology.
THE CHALLENGE OF TECHNOLOGY
If we were to posit Übermensch as a goal for education, that very act would
reconstitute education as a technology for the achievement of that goal. On the
surface, there seems little wrong with such an idea, particularly if one is familiar
with approaches to education that operate within the language of pre-specified
outcomes, measurable goals and achievable objectives. A linear approach might
attempt to identify some characteristic features of an Übermensch, and then set
about devising teaching and learning strategies that would achieve the desired
effect68. However, to call upon education in this way is to suppose that technology
itself is neutral, and that we are alert to all the aspects of what we are doing as we
68 In effect, the NZQA national curriculum framework operates within such a model in the promotion
of standardised units of learning, with pre-specified learning outcomes and standardised assessment
tasks.
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set about the process. This is not about technology merely as the intensification of
industrial efficiency or the proliferation of computers throughout western society.
The concern central to this criticism is Heidegger’s (1977a) question concerning
technology.
Technology stems from the Greek word techne, which refers not only to the
activities and skills of the craftsman in manipulating tools and manufacturing
products, but also more expansively to the arts of the mind and the fine arts.
Techne belongs to ‘bringing forth’, to poiesis. Techne also refers to knowing in a
wider sense of being entirely at home in something, to understand and be expert in
it. Such knowing is an opening up, a revealing. For Heidegger, it is in that
revealing (or unconcealment) of something in its essence where truth happens.
And yet, Heidegger argues, modern technology does not unfold into a bringingforth
in the sense of poiesis. He sees instead that the revealing that rules in modern
technology is a ‘setting-upon nature’, a challenging that calls for only certain
aspects to reveal themselves, while others remain concealed. He uses the example
of a river, which, dammed up for a power plant, becomes a ‘water power supplier’
deriving its essence from its utility as a resource for the power plant. In that mode,
the river is revealed not in its essence but in its utility. Under modern technology,
everything is ordered to stand by as a ‘standing-reserve’, where objects lose their
character and are only partially revealed.
In carefully selected vocabulary, Heidegger introduces the term Enframing to
signify the process in which man is called upon to have the world ‘reveal itself in
terms of standing reserve’. Enframing drives out every other possibility of
revealing, conceals former ways of revealing, and in so doing limits the possibility
of further or more original revealing of a more primal truth. The danger in
Enframing is the possibility that man might be pursuing only the process of
‘ordering the world into standing reserve’ and deriving all his standards on this
basis. The essence of technology as Enframing is ‘the way in which the real
reveals itself as standing-reserve’, and is thus for Heidegger neither a mere human
activity nor a mere means within such activity. Man himself ‘stands within the
essential realm of Enframing’.
Heidegger sees that the notion of Enframing in no way compels us or confines
us to ‘push on blindly with technology’ or ‘to rebel helplessly against it and curse it
as the work of the devil’. The hope of freedom lies in the thought that man
becomes one who listens and hears, and not one who is simply constrained to obey.
Freedom is that which conceals in a way that opens to light, in whose
clearing there shimmers that veil that covers what comes to presence of all
truth and lets the veil appear as what veils. Freedom is the realm of the
destining that at any given time starts a revealing upon its way (Heidegger,
1977a, p. 25).
An important aspect of Heidegger’s theory is that man does not have control
over unconcealment itself, and is in danger of himself being caught up in the
standing reserve, especially if he is merely “staring at the technological” (1977a, p.
32). However, since man takes part in ordering and driving technology forward, he
always has the possibility of being more than mere ‘standing reserve’. Through a
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watchful guardianship over the possible danger and through an awareness that each
revealing conceals yet more, Heidegger credits man with the ‘saving power’ to
restrain the inexorable nature of technology. Such a hope is reminiscent of
Foucault’s notion of freedom as omnipresent wherever there is power, and the
creative possibilities of individual resistance to all encompassing narratives.
Provided that we watch what comes to presence in technology, instead of
merely staring at the technological, man’s involvement introduces what Heidegger
sees as the possible arising of the ‘saving power’ of man keeping watch over the
revealing and concealing of all coming to presence on this earth. The danger in
representing technology as merely instrumental is that we remain held fast in the
will to master it, and that we miss the essence of technology. The hope for
Heidegger lies in the realm of art, but only if art and its propensity for poesis can
maintain its focus on questioning the true, for he says, ‘questioning is the piety of
thought’ (ibid., p. 35) to which it might be added ‘and certainty its death’.
It is true that educational rhetoric has often espoused high ideals such as
‘achieving one’s potential’ or ‘nurturing the whole person’. Such talk however, is
becoming rare as education is increasingly being treated as a commodity for
consumption. In a competitive market environment, educational institutions are
called upon for the efficient production of qualifications, to provide more
consumer choice, and to do so within curriculum choices that satisfy the needs of a
predatory job market. Within a ‘knowledge economy’, education is called upon to
produce saleable workplace skills in areas of knowledge that have commercial
currency. Obviously, this type of development is easy to interpret in terms of
Heidegger’s modern technology, as a ‘setting upon nature’: where only certain
aspects are revealed. Education in such a setting features instrumental knowledge
and is revealed as training, as skill development, and as the acquisition of useful
qualifications. Such education, with its focus on uniformity of reproduction, may
generate willing subjects for societal reproduction, but is obviously not sufficient
for Übermensch.
Less obvious however, but perhaps just as insidious, is the burden of expectation
that education in a less instrumental form must face. Even the least commercial
education can be revealed as instrumental when it is called upon to produce certain
ends for society, for individuals, and in particular for Übermensch. Such hopes for
education are embedded in modernist notions of renewal, in our cultural traditions,
in language and in notions of ‘betterment’. As such, they may have some value in
terms of poiesis as a ‘bringing forth’. Nevertheless, intensifying the value of
Übermensch and accentuating the demand for the production of our cultural
saviour issue a challenge to education; a Heideggerian ‘setting upon nature’ that
again calls for only certain aspects to reveal themselves while others remain
concealed. Although education in this mode might be shaped as a neutral
technology for salvation from our predicament, Heidegger sees us as chained to
technology when we describe it as merely a ‘means to an end’ or as just another
‘human activity’:
We are delivered over to it in the worst possible way when we regard it as
something neutral; for this conception of it, to which today we particularly
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NIETZSCHE’S ÜBERMENSCH
like to do homage, makes us utterly blind to the essence of technology
(1977a, p. 4).
In spite of the liberal hope that education is the path to freedom and autonomy,
this chapter has argued that the process of intentional education is itself a
Heideggerian technology. Far from liberating one from ignorance, education
structures and therefore limits the realm of possibilities for the development of self.
By constituting the self in particular ways, it restricts the possibilities for
Foucauldian freedom as resistance, and even structures the way that the aspiring
Übermensch might construct a self-reflexive view. The problem for Nietzsche’s
Übermensch is whether it is possible to arise in a counter-nihilistic stance from that
compromised position. Übermensch, then, represents agonistic engagement with
that essence and a continuous overcoming of the inherent challenge.
The notion of Übermensch is perhaps the closest Nietzsche comes to an
educational ideal, although without a perspective on culture and on education, the
figure of Übermensch could easily become a simplistic caricature of unattainable
perfection. If there is some truth in the revealing of education as technology, then
we need to heed Heidegger’s warning about regarding it as something neutral, so
that we can at least be aware of Enframing as its essence, and be awake to the
‘saving power’ inherent in reformulating our demands on education.
Wrongly interpreted at times as a violent dominating force, Übermensch is a
metaphor for an agonism of difference, a commitment to reflection and selfcreation,
and an opportunity for individual genius to arise out of mediocrity.
Übermensch refuses any social obligation arising out of tradition or group
morality. Being grounded in the physical world rather than transcendent,
Übermensch is also an expression of life and health. Nietzsche, like his
Übermensch character, was opposed to the levelling effect of the prevailing
practices of democracy and social justice, based as they were on a collective
egalitarian morality. As an antidote to the nihilism of communal tradition, of
social obligation and of unquestioning conformity, Nietzsche posited the notion of
‘untimeliness’, with his Übermensch rising above herd mentality, challenging
accepted definitions, creating new values, ensuring sufficient social space for
difference, and promoting ‘true’ education and culture. “Liberty! Equality!
Fraternity!” was not a rallying cry for Nietzsche, but the recipe for societal decay
and the destruction of individual greatness. The resurrection of humanity through
the Übermensch redefines democracy as the promotion of independence and thus
as “something yet to come” (WS §293). It signifies the undoing of liberal
ethnocentrism, an interrogation of taken for granted assertions called ‘truth’, and
the beginnings of a society that values challenge rather than stasis.
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CONCLUSION
This book has argued that, under the gaze of Nietzsche’s philosophy, traditional
approaches to ethics do not provide sufficient basis for educational thought today.
Liberal notions of autonomy rely on Kantian concepts beyond human perception;
objectivist or positivist accounts of truth belie their interpretive stance; rationality
is revealed as just another self-referential (albeit useful) belief system; while
prevailing models of democracy and social justice prevent the emergence of
individual difference and cultural excellence.
Obviously, a Nietzschean account cannot posit an alternative certainty. The
‘death of god’ does not leave room for another supreme god (or transcendental
truth). Instead, Nietzschean technology calls into question the ‘taken for granted’,
and in a spirit of agonism reveals ethics as an arguable realm, with no point of
refuge outside the world of experience.
Given the multiple perspectives made possible by Nietzsche’s death of god, it
would be inappropriate as a conclusion now to replace current conventions with an
alternative prescription for a singular direction. Within a model of continual
overcoming, multiple subject positions are possible (inevitable even), with the
potential for each to rise above the mediocre, although there is no way of knowing
in advance which ones will. In other words, there are no ideal types or Platonic
forms that can be relied upon as templates for existence. Instead, there is the to
and fro of agonistic engagement with forces that challenge and shape us, and a
continuous interplay between those with whom we share the social space, and
between the various images of the selves we would become.
Nietzsche’s Übermensch constitutes a serious challenge to the technicist view of
education presupposed by Western governments striving nostalgically towards
utopian community or valiantly towards some mythical knowledge economy.
These periodic cultural myths like equal opportunity or knowledge economy do
much to inspire populations and stir them to political action. Such organising
constructs lay down a ready-made challenge to human beings, and treat them as
mechanised units for social production and economic utility. If that is to be the
function of education, it has not been revealed as such either by philosophers trying
to justify its direction or by practitioners involved in its delivery. Of course, as
Nietzsche well knew, education serves a social and economic function, but neither
designers nor practitioners (nor Nietzsche nor this writer) would be satisfied to
limit education to such an instrumental purpose.
Rather than relying on predefined and external motivation for action, the call to
personal challenge presented here is a focus on the possibility for the reflective few
to challenge accepted definitions, to query the level of insertion of government into
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CONCLUSION
the construction of identity, to resist the submersion of identity to extrinsic
purpose, and to ensure sufficient social space for difference.
The importance of Nietzsche’s critique lies not in proving that no education is
needed, nor in suggesting that the individual should be somehow removed from
social engagement; but in problematising the nature of the relationship between the
self and society, in questioning the governing role played by reason in the
development of social selves, and in interrogating the political structures that are
charged with maintaining the current order. Translated into the realm of
educational philosophy, that entails a de-emphasis on totalising rationality and a
greater emphasis on a deconstructive genealogy of the social and cultural milieu in
which the self and society define each other.
Looking beyond the corporeal world, religious philosophy looks for truth in
divine inspiration or spiritual essence to provide the motivation for how we should
live, while metaphysics investigates the world beyond our perception in the hope of
yielding universal truths. Educational philosophy has consistently examined
competing versions of what these ideals might mean in both theory and practice,
and often attempted, with varying degrees of success, to reconcile philosophical
and political difference in the search of some universal guiding ideas. From an
examination of Kantian metaphysics, it has been shown how the liberal tradition in
philosophy currently establishes the ‘essence’ of human nature and thus its
educational ideals in the promotion of individual freedom, democratic process, and
the essential dignity of a universal transcendental self.
Recent politically-fuelled trends towards a neoliberal interpretation of the self as
rational chooser within a competitive market place have undermined any direction
towards a holistic view of the self and have pre-empted the need for human
embodiment and social engagement historically seen as important in defining both
our self and society. Neoliberals see as central to liberal thought the doctrine of
rational autonomy and (as far as possible) unimpeded liberty, although more
temperate liberals want to acknowledge such ideals as a ‘concern for truth’ and
‘respect for persons’ as mediating factors in the application of reason to all human
interaction.
Democratic critiques of individual liberty hold to different notions of freedom
and equality, and historical debate in educational philosophy has raged over such
differences as positive versus negative freedom, equality of opportunity versus
equality of outcome, the relationship between individual freedom and various
degrees of socialism, and the notion of rights for feminist groups and/or ethnic
minorities.
Until the economic reforms of the last two decades, Western educational theory
featured various assemblages of Kantian autonomy as a desirable goal and
democracy as the preferred social practice. Both of these constructs appeal to a
belief in reason in defining freedom and morality for all; in other words, prevailing
discourses operate within a paradigm of universalism, assuming an ideal human
type even if the content detail of individual beings may vary. Underpinning the
whole endeavour is the quest for unity and justified certainty – for a position that
could be called truth. What we have under liberal philosophy and under various
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constructions of democratic systems then, is a model of education governed by a
belief in, and a quest for, universal truth.
The focus of this book, though, has not been the debate between liberal and
democratic constructions of self, or between the competing claims of scientific and
religious belief as the basis for educational ethics. Instead, these positions are
assembled as a singular ethical position, one that is characterised by its reliance on
some fundamental belief for the truth of its moral commitment. Whether the
notion of ‘the good’ involves individual freedom or eternal salvation, whether it
involves equality for all or corrective action for the oppressed; each of these
positions shares a common commitment to the idea that some fundamental truth or
other provides the basis for ethical action – a truth that holds for all people,
irrespective of their differences. In a world of singular epistemological
commitment, such philosophy is a political platform from which ‘truth’ is
disseminated to the unconvinced. Nietzsche captured the evangelistic nature of
such philosophy in his reference to Kant as a ‘cunning Christian’.
Metaphysics has been defined as ‘the philosophical investigation of the nature,
constitution, and structure of reality’ (Butchvarov, 1995, p. 489). It can be seen as
the realm in which attempts are made to define the existence of what is.
Historically, these attempts have included the appeal to divine revelation to
demonstrate the existence of God, anthropomorphic techniques to signify human
essence, and rational proof to justify reason as a meta-narrative. Given that the
search for the truth about metaphysics is itself a metaphysical quest, there can be
no a priori certainty about the nature of what is. Such realisation led Heidegger to
suggest that, with Nietzsche, metaphysics has divested itself of its own essential
possibility, and we are left with nothing but inessentiality and disarray. We have
reached a final stage in Western metaphysics, he says, since “the suprasensory is
transformed into an unstable product of the sensory. And with such a debasement
of its antithesis, the sensory denies its own essence” (Heidegger, 1977b, pp. 53-54)
In contrast to the philosophical quest for certainty, Nietzschean ethics, more
recently developed under such labels as postmodernism, poststructuralism or
deconstruction, refuses to accept the totalising effect of governance by
transcendental reason or the existence of some universal truth. This refusal
incorporates a rejection of the homogeneity assumed under universal goals, and
shies away from any prescriptive morality that draws its authority from a
transcendental world. Nietzsche’s rejection of any ‘other worldly’ realm leads to
his eventual rejection of not only the supposedly ‘real’ or transcendental world, but
also the apparent world as its mere reflection. His final stage of rejection involves
the collapse of any metaphysical distinction between a ‘real’ and an ‘apparent’
world, with implications not only for religious belief, but also for the
transcendental ideals of liberal thought.
What is left in the Nietzschean world is the embodied, reflective and creative
self as a source of ethics, and a corporeal world of sentient beings as the real (and
only) world for man. Where there is no metaphysical realm of reason, no divine
inspiration for morality, and no transcendental basis for human essence, the focus
of educational philosophy takes on a new role. This book has been an exploration
of Nietzschean thought about some problems that arise for education when
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transcendental goals are rejected, and an examination of the idea of Übermensch as
an individual response to life.
As an alternative to the idea that education brings to fruition some kind of
rational essence, Nietzsche posits a process of subjectivity, in which there is a
continuous process of overcoming and becoming. In his view, there is no supreme
ideal or normative concept to aspire to, no evolutionary or linear development
towards an absolute, and no divine presence to shape our morality. Nietzsche’s
famous pronouncement of the death of God is not an announcement of the actual
death of a spiritual being, so much as a recognition that life is nothing more than
the sensory world we inhabit, and a realisation that divine mythology or
metaphysical essence no longer informs our culture.
The death of God also signified for Nietzsche the end of an erroneous belief in
the one norm for mankind and the end of Christian morality. His eulogising of the
polytheism of early Greek culture was a celebration of a world that permitted a
plurality of gods and thus a plurality of norms for man. In that plurality, the
freedom conceded to a god in relation to other gods was also eventually granted to
oneself in relation to one’s laws, one’s customs and one’s neighbours. Polytheism
was thus a vehicle through which it was possible to generate one’s own values and
a means to “create for ourselves our own new eyes ⎯ and ever again new eyes that
are even more our own” (GS §143).
Nietzsche’s whole philosophical project has been described as counternihilistic
– in other words as a response to what he called European nihilism and the
pessimism of his German predecessors. While Nietzsche’s early philosophy was
shaped to a considerable extent by his reverence for Schopenhauer, he later
rejected the inevitability of a world of suffering and misery. Nietzsche redeemed
Schopenhauer’s notion of the Will as some terrible essence, seeing willing as a
liberating force that could elevate man beyond the vale of tears and suffering.
Nietzsche transformed the Will into a positive force as his notion of will to power,
as a celebration of the embodied world, and a rejection of a transcendental afterlife.
Nietzsche saw Christianity as a vain attempt to deal with nihilism and despair,
in that it denied the sensuality of the material world. Christians could tolerate the
suffering of our worldly existence because their salvation was available in a
heavenly afterlife. With the death of God, Christianity loses its value, and with the
notion of ‘God’ signifying the transcendental world in general, metaphysics also
loses its effectiveness as an antidote to nihilism. The ‘higher’ value of truth (based
as it is on the transcendental ‘reality’) disappears and so any scholarly quest for
salvation through knowledge becomes, for Nietzsche, merely a substitution of one
false metaphysical entity for another.
Nietzsche’s evaluation of modern Western culture is rather bleak, with no
meaning other than the satisfaction of biological or psychological needs.
Utilitarian ethics and the nihilism of consumer culture evident in Western
capitalism today can be interpreted as deriving from an attempt to satisfy such
needs and to maximise happiness, with the continuous and ever renewing quest for
more happiness providing the basis for its own ceaseless and unsatisfiable desire.
Nietzsche criticises the search for happiness as the overriding and obsessive
concern of a humanity with no higher focus. The vision of a peaceful
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homogeneous society holds little value for Nietzsche. On the contrary, his
Zarathustra preaches, “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth
to a dancing star” (Z I, Prologue §5).
With the collapse of the transcendental world and a negative valuation on
salvation through religion, the earthly realm is the only world in which one can
find direction for life. The appeasement of suffering, the search for happiness, or
the satisfaction of animal instincts is not a basis for Nietzsche’s new morality, nor
is it a focus for his ‘philosophers of the future’. His concern with culture, suffering
and redemption called for a new, albeit unfinished valuation (a ‘revaluation of all
values’), with man not as an object (a ‘creat-ure’ of God), but as ‘creat-or’. Given
the death of god, and the end of any higher realm from which to draw meaning,
what was left for Nietzsche was the idea of Übermenschlich creation as redemption
from suffering, and as a means of ascribing value to life.
We, however, want to become those we are – human beings who are new,
unique incomparable, who give themselves laws, who create themselves ....
we must become physicists in order to be able to be creators in this sense
(GS §335).
Zarathustra describes three stages in the development of the spirit, all of which
are important in the overcoming of nihilism. The first stage of development is
signified by the camel, aware of the burden imposed by facing up to the challenges
of life; secondly, there is the lion striking out for freedom by saying no to
prevailing morality; and finally, the metamorphosis into the child, whose function
is – unhampered by tradition – the creation of new values:
The child is innocence and forgetting, a new beginning, a game, a selfpropelled
wheel, a first movement, a sacred ‘Yes’. For the game of creation,
my brothers, a sacred ‘Yes’ is needed: the spirit now wills his own will, and
he who had been lost to the world now conquers his own world (Z 1, On the
Three Metamorphoses).
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INDEX
180
aesthetic, 1, 7, 14, 16, 25, 39, 41, 43, 54, 69,
70, 77, 82-85, 93, 110, 113
agonism, 4, 8, 10, 11, 61, 79, 85, 87-89, 103,
119, 137, 144, 149, 160, 165, 166
Apollonian, 4, 7, 25, 30, 41, 51, 57, 58, 60,
63, 65, 81, 101, 103
authority, 1, 4, 26, 30, 31-34, 37, 38, 43, 46,
48, 57, 64, 69, 73, 74, 75, 86, 88, 98, 112,
127, 129, 131, 133, 135, 136, 141, 162,
168
autonomy, 1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 31, 44-46, 65, 67,
71, 74, 94, 108, 112-120, 126, 131, 133,
139, 140, 165-167
becoming, 1, 4, 5, 7, 15, 20, 24, 29, 49, 59, 60,
61, 95, 103, 110, 120, 123, 161, 164, 169
character, 6, 7, 11, 13, 23, 26, 27, 37, 43, 48,
49, 51, 52, 57, 60, 91, 94, 102, 103, 111,
124, 127, 135, 155, 156, 159, 163, 165
Christianity, 1, 4, 6, 10, 18, 31, 33, 34, 39, 42,
47, 50, 52, 70, 82-84, 94, 95, 100, 103,
108, 112, 141, 151, 152, 153, 157, 168,
169
closure, 3, 8, 10, 86, 89, 93, 137, 139
community, 2, 3, 5, 9, 21, 23, 35, 75, 85, 106,
116, 118, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126,
128-132, 136-139, 145, 146, 166
contest, 11, 56, 57, 61, 62, 67, 70, 84-86, 103,
115, 119, 144, 149, 160
critical, 8, 9, 14, 33, 42, 48, 61, 63, 72, 74, 83,
92, 93, 101, 104-106, 125, 134, 137, 157
culture, 3, 5, 7, 12-15, 17, 20-25, 27, 28, 33,
37, 42, 45, 52, 56, 57, 60, 61, 65, 67, 68,
71, 81, 85, 86, 92, 94, 98, 99, 103, 105,
110, 115, 127, 128, 130, 137-139, 146,
147, 149, 155, 156, 159-162, 165, 169,
170
Darwin, 21, 38, 62, 158, 159, 172
democracy, 2-5, 8-10, 31, 55-57, 60, 65-67,
69, 71, 73, 75-80, 85, 87, 88, 98, 106, 126-
134, 136, 137, 139-147, 160, 165-167
democracy to come, 5, 10, 143, 146, 147
democracy: social, 4, 9, 69, 122, 128, 138,
139
Derrida, 2, 10, 55, 92, 99, 100, 105, 143, 145
Descartes, 6, 31, 33, 73, 140
destiny, 21, 24, 40, 49, 59, 60, 94, 161
Dewey, 3, 9, 57, 64, 94, 133, 134, 136
difference, 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 11, 19, 28, 32, 37,
46, 52, 54, 57, 59, 64, 65, 70, 71, 76, 79,
82, 84, 85, 89, 92-94, 105, 106, 110, 126,
128, 130, 137, 139, 140, 142, 146, 159,
165-167
difference: politics of, 5, 10, 71, 146, 147
Dionysian, 4, 7, 25, 30, 41, 47, 50, 51, 57, 58,
60, 63, 64, 65, 81, 101, 103, 149, 152,
155, 159
economy, 1, 2, 4, 5, 21, 27, 28, 33, 71, 73, 75,
84, 93, 96, 98, 102, 109, 112, 117, 121,
122, 123, 125, 131, 136, 139, 153, 160,
164, 166, 167
ego, 61, 99, 101, 102, 146
Enlightenment (the), 13, 20, 31, 69, 87, 93,
94, 120, 127, 141
eternal recurrence, 1, 11, 12, 29, 70, 150-153
experience, 9, 10, 14, 18, 26, 28, 30, 34-36,
39, 40, 44, 48, 50, 51, 57, 58, 66-70, 73,
78, 82, 91, 93, 97, 105, 110, 111, 117,
133, 134, 136, 140, 147, 152, 166
Fichte, 34, 36, 37, 40-42
Foucault, 2, 4, 8, 9, 32, 46, 54, 55, 74, 81, 83,
86, 92, 96, 104, 105, 108-112, 115-120,
124, 137, 144, 145, 158, 164
freedom, 2, 4, 5-7, 9, 17, 18, 24, 26, 28, 31,
32, 34, 35, 38, 39, 42, 43, 45, 48, 51, 52,
55, 57, 58, 64, 65, 71, 73, 74, 76, 78, 88,
89, 94-96, 109, 110, 114, 115, 118, 120,
122, 123, 127-129, 132, 134-140, 143,
147, 155, 156, 159, 163-165, 167-170
Freud, 61, 101
genealogy, 1, 2, 4, 8, 29, 48, 63, 79, 83-85,
104, 107, 109-112, 116, 119, 123, 127,
137, 138, 155, 156, 167
genius, 4, 5, 7, 13, 18, 20, 21, 23, 24, 26-28,
32, 52, 56, 57, 62, 65, 71, 127, 128, 138,
149, 150, 152, 161, 165
German, 6, 10, 12, 13, 15-17, 19-21, 24, 25,
27, 29-31, 33, 36- 42, 52, 56, 66-68, 127,
143, 155, 156, 161, 169, 177
god, 4, 6, 11, 27, 34, 37, 39, 47, 48, 50, 64,
70, 73, 94, 105, 108, 109, 123, 141, 150,
156, 160, 166, 168-170
death of god, 4, 7, 12, 70, 105, 150, 153, 157,
166, 170
good and evil, 1, 35, 47, 57, 61, 82, 153
government, 2, 8, 9, 17, 25, 26, 32, 33, 43, 71,
73-75, 78, 88, 89, 106, 108, 116, 118, 121-
124, 126-129, 131-134, 142, 144, 153,
154, 160, 166
Greek, 14, 19, 20, 22, 26, 30, 56, 61, 81, 103,
130, 149, 163, 169
happiness, 18, 22, 35, 44, 60, 154, 155, 157,
169, 170
health, 6, 7, 10, 11, 13, 52, 63, 66, 82, 103,
104, 122, 124, 154, 156, 157, 158
INDEX
181
Hegel, 17, 19, 26, 30, 36-38, 40-42, 51, 52,
93-95, 98, 103, 127, 143
Heidegger, 11, 55, 58, 92, 138, 150, 157, 163-
165, 168
herd, 4, 6, 58, 59, 136-138, 143, 152, 155,
161, 165
Hollingdale, 1, 15, 17, 49
idealism, 6, 15, 29, 36-38, 40-42, 48, 52, 93,
127, 156
individualism, 2, 66, 67, 74, 75, 78, 86, 87,
121, 127, 130, 132, 134, 138, 146
institution, 21, 22, 24, 60, 78, 133
justice, 4, 29, 69, 74, 77, 78, 84, 100, 112,
129-131, 138, 160
Kant, 1-4, 6-11, 15, 18, 19, 26, 29, 30-33, 37-
52, 54, 67, 69-71, 74-76, 78, 80-83, 86,
94, 95, 98, 108, 112-114, 127, 131, 133,
139-141, 157, 159, 160, 166-168
Kaufmann, 18, 25, 55, 145, 154, 155, 159
leadership, 25, 162
liberal, 1-6, 8, 29, 31, 54, 55, 57, 59, 65, 67,
69, 71-76, 78-80, 86, 87, 89, 92, 94, 95,
98, 100, 102, 104-106, 108, 112, 113, 117,
121, 123, 125, 127-133, 135, 139, 140,
142, 144, 145, 160, 165, 167, 168
liberalism, 4, 8, 32, 33, 37, 55, 65, 69, 71, 73,
74-76, 78, 79, 86, 89, 92, 114, 121, 131,
132, 139, 140
life, 6, 10, 11, 14, 16, 19, 22, 23, 28, 37, 41,
42, 47, 49, 50, 52, 59, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66,
70, 82, 149, 150, 152, 154, 159, 165, 169
life and health, 1, 69, 158, 165
life: social, 3, 4, 37, 69, 81, 85, 89, 129, 134,
137, 141
Locke, 33, 34, 36, 74, 87, 129, 131, 140
Lyotard, 2, 91, 92, 97, 98, 100, 117
metaphor, 4, 7, 10-13, 15, 21, 38, 41, 55, 57,
62, 65, 70, 81, 82, 93, 99, 101, 102, 106,
121, 124, 137, 149, 153, 165
morality, 1, 3, 4, 6, 8-10, 19, 29, 34, 35, 37,
39, 40, 43-52, 54, 63, 70, 71, 76, 78, 79,
82, 84, 88, 95, 99-101, 108, 112, 113, 115,
116, 119, 125, 127, 138, 140-143, 145,
150, 152, 153, 157, 159, 165, 167-170
amoral, 25; immoral, 3, 86
multiplicity, 3, 5, 8, 10, 64, 68, 92, 93, 95,
100, 101, 104, 112, 146
Nazi, 18, 98
neoliberalism, 2, 3, 75, 78, 121, 122, 125, 126,
167
nihilism, 7, 10-12, 14, 16, 18, 19, 21, 40, 48,
52, 54, 58, 63, 64, 69, 70, 83, 86, 100,
108, 110, 128, 136, 149, 155-157, 161,
162, 165, 169, 170
otherness, 3, 4, 8-11, 54, 85, 86, 88, 89, 93,
139, 140, 143, 146, 149, 159, 160
overcoming, 4, 7, 10-13, 18, 25, 28, 31, 41,
44, 52, 55, 56, 60, 61, 64, 65, 71, 101,
103, 126, 128, 143, 149-154, 158-160,
162, 165, 166, 169, 170
overman, 25, 58, 60, 62, 63, 65-67, 150, 152-
159
perspective, 3-8, 10, 12, 28, 47, 65-67, 69, 76,
78, 79, 81, 82, 89, 94, 102, 103, 105, 109-
111, 115, 120, 125, 128, 131, 135, 136,
138, 140, 144, 145, 152, 160, 165
perspectivism, 1, 3, 7, 8, 12, 29, 65, 70, 79,
80, 82, 85, 89, 93, 102
pessimism, 6, 15, 16, 19, 41, 47, 169
political, 2-6, 8-12, 17, 24, 27, 28, 30-38, 42,
43, 45, 46, 54, 57, 60, 64, 67, 73, 75, 78,
79-81, 84-89, 92, 95-97, 105-107, 109,
117, 119-121, 123-133, 135-140, 142,
144, 145, 147, 160, 166-168
poststructuralism, 1-3, 8, 55, 56, 67, 69, 91-
93, 95, 100, 105, 109, 114, 145, 146, 168
rationality, 1-4, 6, 8-11, 14, 17, 18, 21, 25, 28,
30, 31, 33, 34, 36, 37, 39, 40, 42-46, 48-
52, 54, 65, 68, 69, 71, 73-82, 84-89, 92-
94, 95, 97, 98, 101, 102, 104, 105, 107,
108, 112-121, 124, 127, 128, 131-134,
136, 139-141, 146, 147, 158-160, 166-169
reason, 1-6, 8-11, 14, 31-47, 49-52, 57, 64, 65,
69, 73, 76, 77, 79-82, 84, 86, 87, 91-99,
101, 102, 104, 107, 108, 112, 113, 115,
118, 119, 127, 128, 133, 135, 136, 140,
141, 147, 150, 151, 154, 157, 159, 167,
168
reason: faith in, 38, 69, 140
religion, 6, 18, 23, 24, 26, 30-33, 34, 37, 39-
44, 47, 52, 65, 73, 78, 84, 108, 123, 127,
132, 135, 141, 142, 150, 167, 168, 170
Rousseau, 32-35, 39, 43, 46, 57, 74, 78, 94,
138, 154
Schelling, 34, 36, 37, 40-42
Schopenhauer, 5-7, 12-19, 24-26, 29, 30, 32,
37, 39, 40-42, 49-52, 57, 60-63, 93, 127,
139, 143, 149, 152, 154, 161, 169
self as social construct, 1, 2, 11, 87, 101, 102,
107, 146, 167
social: conformity, 4, 6, 7, 8, 26, 29, 35, 52,
57, 58, 71, 77, 93, 118, 132, 135, 136, 165
social: development, 74, 123, 134
social: grouping, 9
social: institutions, 30, 57, 75, 131
social: justice, 4, 71, 77, 79, 86, 122, 127,
128, 165, 166
social: life, 3, 4, 37, 69, 81, 85, 89, 129, 134,
137, 141
social: policy, 2, 4, 121, 123
social reproduction, 135
social sciences, 38, 99
INDEX
182
Socialism, 5, 10, 17, 27, 54, 71, 74, 75, 98,
122, 126-128, 132, 167
State (the), 4, 14, 17, 20-28, 57, 71, 94, 96,
119, 121, 122, 124, 125, 127, 134, 135,
137
struggle, 19, 22, 24, 25, 54, 60, 62, 64, 69, 70,
101, 105, 106, 111, 138, 155, 158
subject, 1-5, 8, 13, 14, 31, 42, 44, 45, 50, 51,
54, 56, 68, 69, 71, 74, 75, 81, 86, 92, 93,
95-97, 99-101, 104, 105, 108, 109, 111,
113, 115, 117, 118, 120, 124, 125, 131,
139, 141, 146, 147, 157, 160, 166
subjectivity, 2, 5, 6, 8, 9, 20, 40, 68, 71, 84,
86, 93, 102, 105, 108-110, 118-124, 126,
139, 157, 169
suffering, 16, 17, 19, 35, 52, 61, 64, 70, 71,
95, 101, 103, 154, 158, 169, 170
technology, 2, 6, 11, 30, 52, 92, 94, 98, 99,
100, 109, 116, 117, 162- 166
third way, 3, 4, 9, 98, 122-126, 139
transcendental, 1, 4-6, 9-11, 18, 29, 39, 40, 45,
46, 50, 52, 69, 76, 77, 79-82, 84, 89, 92,
96, 97, 103, 105, 108, 110, 117, 127, 128,
141, 150, 153, 160, 166-170
truth, 1-4, 6, 8, 11, 14, 15, 23, 24, 26, 30, 34,
35, 40, 46, 52, 54, 61, 68-70, 73, 76, 77,
79-86, 89-93, 96, 97, 99, 100, 103-105,
109-112, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 126,
133, 137, 138, 145, 151, 158, 163, 165-
169
Übermensch, 1, 4, 7, 10, 11, 13, 18, 25, 26,
28, 41, 51, 52, 58, 65, 68-72, 101, 103,
107, 110, 120, 138, 139, 143, 148-150,
152-162, 164-166, 169, 170
universal: ethics, 8, 76
universal: good, 6, 46
universal: morality, 8, 14, 34, 39, 44, 79, 82,
115, 119, 152
universal: reason, 3, 5, 29, 46, 47, 50, 65, 73,
104, 115, 116, 119, 127
universal truth, 3, 4, 84, 119, 167, 168
universal values, 82
value, 5, 7, 11, 16, 18, 19, 22, 25, 30, 31, 35,
39, 43, 45, 48, 50, 62, 63, 68, 69, 71, 79-
83, 95, 97, 104, 126, 127, 130, 134, 137,
138, 145, 147, 151, 153, 156-159, 161,
162, 164, 169, 170
values, 1, 3, 7, 9, 11, 14, 31, 48-50, 57, 58, 60,
61, 63, 64, 67, 68, 70, 71, 73, 76, 78, 82,
84, 94, 98, 102, 103, 110, 112, 114, 122,
130, 132, 139, 146, 147, 152-154, 159,
160, 165, 169, 170
values: revaluation of, 49, 50, 60, 70, 170
Voltaire, 33, 34, 39, 140
Wagner, 13, 16, 17, 18, 30, 49, 51, 149, 152
will to power, 1, 4, 6, 9, 11, 52, 55-57, 58, 62-
65, 67, 70, 81, 96, 127, 153, 169
Zarathustra, 6, 7, 12, 13, 55-60, 69, 109, 150,
152, 153, 155, 157, 158, 170